


The Fall of the Pride

by WriterChick



Series: The Baelishes [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Children Deaths, Angry Sex, Angst, Ass Play, Bars and Pubs, Best Bishes 4 Evah, Betrayal, Blood, Breastfeeding Kink, Children in the middle, Cinderella - Freeform, Confessional, Daddy Kink, Dark Sansa, Dating, Dirty Talk, Divorce, ENDLESS TEARS, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, Fashion Week, Five Stages of Grief, Friendship Jealousy, Funerals, Grudges, Guns and Shooting, Insecurity, Jealousy, Kings and Queens of the City, Lack of Communication, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Manipulation, Mob Boss Baelish, Mob war, Modern AU, Mommy Issues, Name-Calling, Organized Crime, Paralysis, References to Drugs, Regret, Relationship Goals, Relationship Issues, Retaliation, Romantic Partner Death, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Separations, Sex Games, Smut and Fluff, So many deaths, Surface level, Surveillance, Trust vs Risk, Ugly graphic death, Using and Abusing, albatraoz, boss ass bitch - Freeform, burial, car crash, character reveals, city under fire, couple finding each other again, dead priests, deeper meaning, double standards, epilogue in this one, fucked up family dynamics, healing together, lying cheating and stealing, mafia, mild edging, mob, parenting, road blocks and spike strips, rough and messy, smug bastard, snuggles, so much pain, stripper poles, the concept of forgiveness, too much on the line, written by an evil woman who thrives on your tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 241,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: Part 5 of The Baelishes. The war between the Baelishes and the Lannisters only lasted for 22 days. The city barely survived, and would never again be the same.





	1. Bless Me Father

He heard the door click shut and Sansa sit down on the bench on the other side of the dark paneling, the old wood creaking. The priest slid the divider back, so that the grate was exposed, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”  

She was not visible and Petyr didn’t dare crane his neck to look, for fear of being caught. He knew that it was her, hearing her familiar voice only confirmed it. She sounded almost nervous as she spoke, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been a very long time since my last confession.”  

She had been to confession before? Petyr’s eyes widened at the idea that the woman to whom he had been married for seven years was not only currently in a Catholic confessional booth, but that she had been there before.  

“Are you Catholic?”  The priest asked.  

“Yes.”  Sansa’s answer was automatic.  

No she wasn’t.  Was she?  Petyr’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He then heard Sansa let out a nervous chuckle, “No, I’m not. Sorry, I’m supposed to be. My parents were. My sister comes here weekly and she insisted that I take a turn.”  

That made more sense, though Petyr was sure that Arya only came to work on her sudoku puzzles in the pews.  Petyr silently typed in his phone,  _ Ask her when her last confession was. _  He kept his phone by his knees as he gestured with his head.  His hands were not free to point for the priest to look down at it.  It was a tight squeeze, fitting both men in the little booth, but Petyr couldn’t resist the opportunity to hear his wife’s deepest, darkest secrets.  

“When was your last confession?”  To the priest’s credit, his voice did not betray him. He offered no indication that he was being held at knife point.  

Sansa gave a light chuckle, something she did when she felt taken off guard. Petyr listened for the sound of her palms rubbing against the material of her clothes. Sansa always adjusted herself when she felt uncomfortable or the topic was beneath her. He figured he wouldn’t be able to hear something so subtle, but it was worth a try. 

“Oh, a long time ago.” He could picture her dismissive wave. She continued, “I was still a teenager and was discovering my sexuality.”  

Petyr’s eyes widened at that,  _ discovering her sexuality? _ Without prompting, the priest probed further, “You had premarital relations?”  

Sansa laughed and then coughed, trying to stop herself. “Sorry, Father. Yes.”  

The priest inquired, “Are you a married woman now?”  

“Yes.” She answered automatically, then added, “Very much so.”  

“You were not a virgin when you married your husband,” the priest acknowledged.

_ No, she definitely was not,  _ Petyr thought to himself. Her lack of virginity was something he both appreciated and regretted. He cherished the confidence and skill she had, that only experience would give her _. _ But he also loathed to think of anyone else with her-at all, ever. That anyone but him be the first to explore her, and help her  _ discover  _ what she preferred. For years, he had wondered who had taken her virginity from her, but it was a secret she guarded closely. He knew enough that it wasn’t out of love for the guy, but instead out of sympathy. Petyr would never allow the man who first touched his wife to live, and she understood that. 

Sansa answered, “No, I lost my virginity when I was in high school, to a college boy--I’ve always had a thing for older men.”  

Petyr scowled as he thought;  _ No. Just me _ .  

Sansa’s voice was silk as she continued, “It was consenting. I just wanted to lose it and get it over with. I knew I’d have to use my body to get where I wanted to be, eventually.”

The Hound. She was talking about Sandor “The Hound” Clegane. Petyr frowned thinking of his wife’s completely empty and mechanical sex life with that mutt, prior to his discovery of her over a coffee table of coke and deciding that he must have her.  

“So, I picked someone benign to practice on.” She was lost in a memory that Petyr would give anything to rip from her mind. There was only room for him. Sansa sounded a million miles away as she spoke through the partition, “I’ll never forget his name--”   

_ Yes? _  Petyr was on the edge of his seat, silently craning his neck over the priest to hear better.  Years ago they had had an argument about this very subject, and Sansa’s vicious tongue slashed him with the reality of someone else taking her innocence. It was a terrible thought that had nettled him over time whenever he allowed himself to think about it. Finally, right here and now, he would get an answer. He would learn the identity of the horny little college brat who couldn’t keep it in his pants, and he would rid himself of the boy, wherever and whoever he was.  No man, other than Petyr, could be allowed to walk the world with intimate knowledge of his wife.  

“You know, it doesn’t matter who,” Sansa finished her thought.    

_ Fuck. _ Petyr had been so close. He popped a mint in his mouth and started chewing it in frustration.

“Truth be told, I didn’t come to confession over the loss of my virginity. It is really about what I did after that,” Sansa continued.

“As you are not Catholic, I will make you aware that it is permissible to re-confess the same sins if they have been repeated.”  The priest replied. Petyr appreciated the man’s natural ability to mine for information.  

Sansa remained silent for a moment. Then Petyr heard her rifle through her purse before she said, “Yeah, okay.  It did happen a couple of times, after all.” She sighed before admitting, “Sex was good, but it wasn’t great.” 

Petyr silently snickered to himself.  _ Of course it wasn’t great; I bet it was some pathetic frat boy eager to shoot his load before he passed out drunk. You are being polite to say that it was even good.  _ He popped another mint in frustration.  

There was a long pause before Petyr heard a smile creep in Sansa’s voice. “Father?”  

Petyr poked the blade into the priest’s neck a little more and nodded his head for the man to speak. The priest answered her, “Yes.  Did you want to confess what happened after?”  

Sansa’s voice turned deeper and more deliberate as she answered, “I let one of my girlfriends finger me. Well, and a bit  _ more, _ as we made out in the back of her car.”  

Petyr’s eyes bulged in complete and utter shock. Sansa had told him right from the start that she wasn’t interested in women. It was something he was okay with, because he had stopped being interested in women long ago too, focusing only on Sansa. But this was more than just a sexy girl on girl moment; this was a true blue secret. It was something he bet she had never told anyone. He silently bit the fist he made of his free hand in excitement over the juicy information to which he would finally be privy. He barely noticed the priest’s breathing change. Apparently, men of the cloth were not immune to natural urges either.  

Sansa offered a light chuckle, “I’m sorry, Father. You’re so pure, you probably don’t know what I mean.”  

“Please explain further,” The priest’s answer was automatic. Petyr glared at the man for his perversion, though was guilty of wanting to know more as well.

Sansa’s voice lowered again, and Petyr could tell by the husky way she spoke, she was reliving some of her memories, “Sex wasn’t what the movies had made it out to be, so I wondered if I may be gay. I was telling a girlfriend this one night after a few drinks and she kissed me.   _ Deeply.”   _ Sansa giggled a little, showing her discomfort before she continued, “I had never been kissed like that before. She wasn’t clumsy or passive. And she wasn’t greedy or aggressive, either. Her tongue slid past mine, knowing exactly what it wanted. And it felt good to have some direction, to know what was expected of me.”  

Petyr felt his cock stir as she kept explaining, “She was smooth, confident, knowing the effect she had on me. I was so lost in what her mouth was doing to mine that I didn’t notice her hand reach up and massage my breast. Her palms were so warm through my shirt, my nipples had no choice but to respond.”  

_ Fuck. _ Petyr’s arousal was only growing as he pictured his wife in the back of a car, getting felt up by another woman. He knew those breasts; he had felt them over her shirt as she was describing. He had watched with pleasure, as her nipples stuck out against the fabric proudly a thousand times, and knew that they had then too.  

“I felt guilty just sitting there, enjoying her touch, so I moved to kiss down her neck. She took her shirt off and rested my hands on her breasts. I let my fingers gently rub and pluck at her nipples to reciprocate the feeling she gave me. I was so new to everything. I hoped that I was doing it right. I had never touched a woman before, and barely touched a man.” Sansa offered a nervous chuckle.  

Petyr felt conflicted. He didn’t appreciate hearing about his wife’s sexual experiences without him, but he couldn't deny how tantalizing the tale was.  

“One of her hands reached down and pushed my skirt up. I didn’t know what to say. What to expect. We had just been kissing, and then all of a sudden I felt the cool night air on my thighs as my skirt bunched up around my waist.” Petyr could hear Sansa shift in the booth as she spoke. “Her fingertips traced the outline of my underwear, and it wasn’t until she gently pushed against the front of them that I stopped and looked back at her in shock.”  

Petyr shifted to accommodate his growing erection, and hoped that Sansa would think it was the priest who moved. Sansa continued, “I asked her what she was doing, and she just smiled back at me. I shook my head and told her that I had a boyfriend-- I couldn’t be gay.”  

Sansa’s voice sounded heady in the memory, “She just nodded and told me that she knew and it was alright. She slid her hand into my underwear and touched her fingers to me. I almost jumped out of my skin. But, she calmed my nerves with another kiss as she rubbed me in warm circles.” 

Sansa drew a deep breath, her voice wavered a little as she continued, “She whispered in my ear that it was okay to like it.  That I wasn’t straight or gay just because I responded to being touched the right way. She told me I wasn’t cheating on my boyfriend either because I wasn’t letting her do anything to me that I hadn’t already done to myself. She was just helping me along. And it felt good to be helped.”  

Petyr felt his mouth water and he fought the urge to press on himself, just to relieve some pressure. His mind flashed to the look Sansa gave him whenever she let him help her. He smirked, remembering her calling him such a “good helper” a time or two as he buried his face between her legs. He glanced over at the priest; the man’s mouth hung open and he appeared to be fighting the urge to adjust himself as well.  

“She was sliding her fingers all over me,” Sansa panted.  

_ Did she just pant? _  Petyr furrowed his eyebrows in curiosity.  

“I was so wet,”  Sansa continued, “she slid into me so easily, and I didn’t know what she was doing until she was doing it.”

There was silence for a moment and Petyr could have sworn he heard something rubbing on the other side of the partition. “ _ Father _ ?” She gasped a little for air.

“Yes, then what happened?” The priest choked out, affected more by her words than the knife at his throat.  

Sansa’s voice was high and Petyr could hear her shift in her seat through the wall, “Her fingers were pumping inside of me, rubbing places I didn’t know existed. She had pulled my shirt up and was sucking on my breast as she massaged the other when I felt the first wave of pleasure build. I couldn’t help it, my back arched up off the seat and I reached for her, wanting more. I didn’t care if it was wrong, or if it would send me straight to Hell. I just needed it more than I’d ever needed anything before. She let go of my breast and started pulling my underwear down as her other hand continued to rub me from inside.”  

Petyr swallowed all the excess saliva that was gathering in his mouth at the image of his wife splayed out in the back seat of a car, her tight teenage pussy getting finger-banged by one of her girlfriends.

Sansa’s voice got a little shaky as she said, “She told me not to freak out, that it would only make it better, she just wanted to help me finish. I didn’t know what she was talking about until she lowered her head. I wanted to say no, that I wasn’t into that sort of thing, but as soon as her tongue touched me, I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. Untl that moment, I had always wondered why people called it ‘eating out,’ never quite understanding what they meant. To experience for myself someone ravenously gorging themselves on me, taking as much as their mouth could handle, licking and sucking for more… I understood what it was like to be hungered for, after that. And I’m telling you, she was good, she knew when I was ready. She could just tell.”  

_ No,  _ **_I’m_ ** _ good. I’m the one that knows when you’re ready,  _ Petyr corrected her with increasing jealousy.  

Sansa’s voice sounded restrained, “She seemed to know how close I was, and what I needed, pumping and rubbing her fingers as her tongue lapped me up like I was her last meal. At that point I didn’t care that she was a woman, or that I had a boyfriend. Right and wrong weren’t even a part of the equation. I just needed her to keep going; feeling like I’d die if she stopped.  Before I knew it, I was coming hard all around her fingers, so strong I actually teared up.”  

Sansa audibly gave a shaky exhale, and followed it with silence. Petyr heard his heart pound in his ears as he waited for her to continue. “I like men, Father. They have the right  _ equipment _ . Women are pretty but when I look at a man, I want to get naked and feel their skin against mine. I don’t feel that way when I look at a woman and that determined my sexuality.  But I have to  _ confess _ , that night, that girl--she touched me in a way that I had never been touched before.”  

Petyr noticed how out of breath she sounded.  _ Was she masturbating? _ He silently asked himself the question he already knew the answer to. Petyr stifled a growl. He felt trapped in the booth, unable to get to her or even let her know that he was here. It was sexy to imagine his woman and another girl going to town on each other, but it was entirely different to hear it as a reality. She was so affected by it to this day that it drove her to rub one out in a confessional, a man of the cloth sitting next to her with nothing but wood between them. Only he was supposed to have that kind of effect on her.    

More silence passed and Petyr wondered if she would leave now. She didn’t. Instead, she challenged the priest, “Those are sins already forgiven, Father. I have come here today to confess something else.”  

The priest swallowed, no doubt recovering from her words as well, before he asked, “What would you like to confess today?”  

There was another slight pause and the smile in her voice grew as she said, “Well, Father, I’ve been very bad. One might even say that I’m downright  _ sinful. _ ”   

“Which commandment did you break?” The priest asked.  

“All of them. Name one and I’ve done it, at one point or another. Probably even a few times.”  Sansa’s voice was earnest.

This prompted Petyr to do a quick internet search of the ten commandments on his phone. His eyes bulged out at the sixth commandment and he pointed at it with his thumb for the priest to get answers out of her about. The priest was clearly shocked to hear her confess to all the commandments because he persisted, “Killing is a commandment.”  

“I know.” Sansa said simply.  

The priest ignored Petyr furiously pointing at commandment number six as he asked, “Are you confessing that you have murdered?”

Petyr rolled his eyes and thought,  _ Who cares?! _

“Well I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, so I guess I am. I told you, I’ve done them all.” Sansa sounded bored with the subject. Petyr felt anything but bored as he tapped at number six and pushed the blade a little further in the priest’s neck to remind him of the danger should he not comply.  “But none of that matters.”

It didn’t? Petyr found adultery to be pretty-fucking-important. He told himself that she didn’t. She was posturing, maybe, trying to make herself sound more sinful than she was. She had to be. There was no way that Sansa,  _ his  _ Sansa would step out.  

Her voice sounded morose as she explained, “My greatest sin is against my husband.”  

Petyr’s head shot up and he almost dropped his phone. The priest took that as an opportunity to appease Petyr, “The sixth commandment?”  

“What?” Sansa sounded irritated.  “No.  No.  No.”  Then her voice turned to anger as she spat out, “Make no mistake, Father. We’ve been through a lot together, he and I.  But I will not have you think for a moment that he is any less than exactly what I need. He has moved worlds for me, and he’s the only man for which I would do the same.” There was fire behind her words as she insisted, “Adultery is simply not a consideration: fuck someone else? Who? No one can ever compare to the man that my husband is.” She took a deep breath, pausing for a moment to regain her composure. Power emanated from her as her words became slow and deliberate, “Hear me, priest: I’ve never,  _ ever  _ cheated on my husband.”    

Petyr silently let the air escape his lungs in relief. Pride welled in his chest to hear his wife fiercely proclaim her love for him. He knew that he shouldn’t have allowed himself to even question, but it always felt good to have her loyalty confirmed. 

Sansa was not feeling the same relief he was, as she scolded the priest, “You should be ashamed of yourself for insinuating such things. You’re lucky that it is me on the other side of this partition. If it were my husband, you’d not leave this booth alive.” Petyr smiled in agreement, enjoying the nervous look the priest gave him. Sansa chastised the man further, “Is this how you conduct a confession? Through accusation?”  

Petyr bit back a chuckle as she shamed the man. He looked back over at the priest with another huge smile, and lifted his eyebrows, nodding for him to respond. The man of the cloth apologized, “I meant no offense. You said you broke  _ all _ the commandments.”  

“In my whole life, yes. I’ve cheated on others. But my husband is special. I could never be with someone else now that I know what he feels like. I have what I need, because I have him.” Petyr listened to her boast about him, “That man does things to me that no one, not even God himself, can come close to measuring up to.”  

Petyr felt a thousand butterflies release in his stomach, and his face hurt from the smile that threatened to split it open. He looked over at the priest who offered a timid smile back at him. 

Sansa continued, “He fits me perfectly in so many ways. Not just mentally or emotionally. We also have a very physical relationship, Father.”  

_ Yes, we do. _ Petyr smirked.  

“But there is more. He’s always there for me, knows what I need before I do. He keeps me focused, and centered. He’s older than me, Father.” Sansa’s voice went from admirous to almost apologetic.  

_ What the hell is she sorry for? My age?  _ Petyr’s eyebrows furrowed at the pause. He typed into this phone,  _ Ask her why that’s a bad thing. _ He nudged the priest to look.  

“A lot of wives take comfort in the love of a more mature husband.” The priest spoke non-committally.  

Sansa offered an uncomfortable chuckle, “And I do.”  

_ Then what’s the problem? _ Petyr fought the urge to just ask outright, blow his cover and get some direct answers.  

Sansa’s voice was nervous, “I am not immune to insecurities, Father. As irrational as they may be. I do from time to time have them, and I abuse my husband with them.”  

Petyr’s eyes went wide, typing into his phone,  _ abuse me? _  He caught the priest’s eye and then pointed at it, prompting him.  

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Child.”  The priest spoke as he looked down and read Petyr’s words, careful not to move his neck too far.  

“Because my husband is older than I am, he has so much more to offer me than I do him.”  Sansa breathed out.  

_ Bullshit. _ Petyr felt irritation wrinkle his brow and his lips purse.  

“I try to be good for him.” Sansa appealed.  

_ You are--the best. _ Petyr’s thoughts spoke directly to her.  

“I give him all of myself--my body, my thoughts and feelings. And we are partners in everything.  Neither of us works without the other.” Sansa broke through her explanation with a sick chuckle, “There was a time, long ago where we separated.”  

Petyr stared at the dark wood walls of the tiny box he sat in and remembered that time. He remembered trying to drown himself in alcohol to deaden the feeling. He remembered parking outside her house, staring at her closed blinds, praying that she would show her face. Praying that she would see him and want him. Sansa’s voice took him out of the painful memory as she explained, “We were both gashed open, bleeding out on our own, needing the other.” She took another deep breath and then continued, “As I said: we’ve been through so much together.”  

_ Yes we have,  _ Petyr agreed.  

“So much pain.” Sansa’s voice was barely a whisper. 

_ So very much,  _ Petyr acknowledged, knowing she was thinking of the baby they had lost.  It wasn’t something that ever went away, and he knew from time to time she still considered the life they had created, and the death they couldn’t prevent.  

Sansa was silent for a moment before she brightened, “And we’ve been through so many great things.  Amazing things.  Father, you’re a priest so you probably won’t understand this.  But there is no greater feeling in this world than sharing children with someone.  The sheer joy I get at watching him play with our daughter or cradle our son in his arms.”

Petyr grinned at her words.  He always felt her love, but somehow hearing her tell someone else, when he wasn’t supposed to know about it, intensified the feeling.  

“It’s because of all of this that I try so hard to be everything he needs.  I want him to come to me for everything: sexually, emotionally, for companionship and comfort.  He never had a family before--”  Sansa stopped herself.  “No.  I won’t discuss my husband’s past with you, that’s his business.  What I’m trying to say is that I want to be my husband’s ‘Holy Trinity’ if you understand my meaning.”  

The priest acknowledged, “I do.”  

_ You are,  _ Petyr’s thoughts attempted to assure her. He reached in his pocket and grabbed another mint.    

“And I know that I am.” Sansa’s voice smiled. “But every now and again I get irrational, and I forget. I worry that in his maturity, he’s becoming tired or bored with me. The novelty of having a younger bride has worn off. Or that now that I am a mother, I am less attractive. My body was not unaffected by the process, after all. Sometimes I worry that he will start to lose interest because of all the attention I give to the children.”  

Petyr’s face fell; he had no idea that she felt his way. None of it was true. He typed in his phone,  _ Have I done anything to make her feel that way? _

Before the priest could ask, as if she read his mind, Sansa continued, “It’s completely irrational. He’s done nothing to make me feel this way. I just do, from time to time. And there’s only one thing that seems to help.”  

_ What?! Tell me! _ Petyr shifted against the priest, reflexively leaning forward in his seat.  

The priest spoke calmly, “You said you abuse him?”  

Petyr had forgotten about that part. He had been too focused on her feelings, that he had not focused on those words in particular. Sansa’s voice was remorseful, “Yes. He’s a very controlled man. He knows when to bite his tongue, when to make a move and when not to. He is this way in all things.  Except for me. If he feels that another man is attempting to seduce me, he loses his control. And if he cannot have me, if I withhold myself from him, he loses his control then too.”

Petyr exhaled slowly, feeling the truth to her words. She continued, “It feels wonderful to have someone lose themselves over you. Especially if it is so fundamentally against their character. I can’t liken it to anything else, Father. Except  _ sin _ . I play games with my husband, hoping he will snap his chain and lose reason, until being with me gives it back to him. I know that it’s wrong to abuse him so, put him in situations that I know will drive him to act so passionately.”  

Petyr slowly smiled.  _ This is what she’s confessing? _ He had known this about her for years. It did not bother him. In fact, he actually liked it. He typed as much into the phone and pointed for the priest to see. Petyr knew her games gave him a break from himself and the focus he required to pull everyone’s strings. 

The priest cleared his throat and suggested that to Sansa. “There is no official sin in what you have said. It is, however, a wife’s duty to provide for her husband’s carnal desires. Have you considered that he may enjoy how you provide for him?” 

Sansa’s laugh was sudden and unrestrained. “You know, Father, I have considered that. But I guess I just wanted it validated.”  

“Validated?” The priest asked.  

Her voice was smooth as she explained, “You see, you know my secrets. Secrets I’ve never actually said out loud before. Not even to my husband.”  

Petyr nodded his head at the truth to her words, to the priest who did not seem as interested as he was. Sansa continued, “When my sister dragged me to church, I knew I’d have a choice. I could sit here and torture a priest with a story about the very first time someone was able to make me come.”  

_ That was the first?!  _ Petyr’s eyes widened at that. He had been silently wishing a painful death for the man who invaded his wife’s insides for the first time, but now he found himself less aroused by her frisky girlfriend and more annoyed at actually hearing out loud who’s greedy tongue and hands were responsible for the first time Sansa came undone with another person. It was suddenly so much more intimate than he had imagined.      

“Or, I could actually divulge something meaningful to me. I knew if I did that, I would have to kill you.” Sansa’s voice was so matter of fact that Petyr wasn’t sure he heard her right at first. 

The priest stuttered, “No, you don’t have to do this. Confessions are completely confidential!”   

She ignored his plea as she continued, “I brought a silencer, and even started screwing it on the barrel of my gun. But I’m thinking in this tiny box, with the acoustics in this room, it would be much louder than I want. What do you think, Petyr?” Sansa’s voice held her signature smile.  

Petyr’s jaw dropped and a slow smile tugged at either side of his mouth. How had she known?  Petyr had been so careful. When Varys told him where she was going, he sped ahead, parked around back, and snuck into the confession booth long before they even got there. He had to sit through two boring confessions about coveting neighbors and cheating on taxes, before she stepped into that booth. There was no way that she could have possibly known he was there.  

“No answer?” Sansa’s voice was playful. “ _ I  _ think that my husband thinks of everything, and knew that a silencer wouldn’t be enough. My plan B was to have someone waiting to silently catch you and kill you after I left. But, my husband would have planned ahead and probably brought a blade instead, willing to get dirty with this job. He doesn’t have to, you know. We have people for this. But he just can’t resist getting more  _ hands-on _ when it comes to me. It’s part of what I do to him.”

She was dead on. Petyr smiled, his dick aching at the confidence she exuded. This woman did not sound like the woman she confessed to be. He loved both versions, and the attraction he felt was indiscriminate. But the more confident woman, she stirred something in him that could not be bridled. He would break through brick and mortar to drive his cock into this Sansa. How could she ever think that he was growing disinterested in her? If anything, age had only perfected her more.  

“I think that my husband has been holding a knife either to your thigh or your throat. And knowing my husband, and his  _ preferences _ , he’s not very enthused over snuggling a knife up to your crotch, especially where a slice to your throat would also silence your screams. He’s very efficient. And if I know my husband at all, he’s probably really horny right now and anxious for you to be out of the way so he can try to fuck me in this tiny booth.” Sansa boasted proudly.  

Petyr felt his cock twitch. Goddamn, she was fucking brilliant. Suddenly, something dawned on him,  _ Wait-- _ **_try?_ **  Before he realized what he was doing, he pressed the knife into the priest’s neck and pulled. The man’s foot twitched against the divider wall and Petyr swore he could hear Sansa’s faint laugh as she said, “Sounds like you’re handling the situation.”  

Petyr cleared his throat as he confirmed her assumption, “It’s just the two of us now.”  

“It’s always better that way.” Sansa stood up from her bench.  

Petyr stood up as well and put his fingers through the grate as he looked in at her, “I don’t mind your games. I like them. There is no need to be insecure.”  

Sansa’s eyes met his and then looked away. Petyr continued, “It’s irrational.”  

“I said that it was.” Sansa was quick to retort.  

Petyr smiled, “I know.” And then he met her halfway, “My jealousy is irrational too.”  

Sansa nodded, a grin slowly tugging at either side of her mouth, “You never have to be jealous.  Not truly.”  

“I know.”  Petyr felt himself gravitate towards the grate, wanting to touch her. “But it feels good to know that you don’t get upset when I am. That you want me regardless of the things I do…”

Sansa leaned in closer, her voice low, “I want you more because of the things you do.”  

“I want to do things to you.” Petyr stepped over the corpse, avoiding the blood that was pooling beneath his feet as he pressed himself against the divider, feeling the hard wood wall provide a strong resistance to his growing erection.  

Sansa mirrored his actions, pushing her body against the immovable barrier as well.  Her voice became breathy as she answered, “I want you to.”  

“I’m coming over, now.”  Petyr turned away.  

He had his handle on the door when Sansa raised her voice, “Don’t!”  

“What?  Why not?” Irritation flashed across Petyr’s face as he turned back towards her, bringing himself to the grate.  

Sansa smiled, “Because Arya’s out there sitting in a pew.”  

“So?” Petyr threaded his fingers through the grate. He didn’t care what the younger Stark sister saw; her deathtoll must have rivaled his by now and he knew she understood human sexuality.  

Sansa gently kissed one of his knuckles as she smiled, “With our children.” She leaned in and kissed a knuckle from his other hand before explaining, “If Elenei sees you come out of the confession box, you’ll never make it to my side before she runs into your arms.”

Petyr froze, caught between the blood rush to his groin and the dehydrated brain cells trying desperately to work and let him see the inherent issue with the situation. Sansa was aware of his conundrum, “Our daughter loves her Daddy so. Would you turn her away to climb between my legs?”  

_ Fuck. _ “This was the game wasn’t it? Not sexy stories recited to a priest for me to hear, but instead getting me all worked up and then making it impossible for me to get to you.” Petyr asked exasperatedly.  

She grinned and gently bit one of his knuckles that she hadn’t yet kissed before nodding her head, “Uh-huh.”  

“I’m going to fuck you so hard it hurts.” Petyr threatened.  

Sansa giggled, unfazed by his threat, “Will you lick me better after?”  

Petyr grabbed at his erection, trying to get control of himself. He attempted the upper hand, “I don’t know, would it be as good as when your girlfriend did?”  

“Practice makes perfect,” Sansa purred through the holes.  

Her reply was so prepared that he questioned the validity of her  _ confession _ . Was it really a memory that she had never shared with him, or was it just a story made up to tease him and the priest? He had to ask, “The girl--was it true?”  

Sansa slid her hand over her breast, playing with the neckline suggestively as she said, “One.  Hundred. Percent.”    

Petyr closed his eyes and took a controlled breath in through his nostrils, feeling his cock strain against his pants and his palms itch to grab handfuls of her body. He kept his eyes closed and his lips pursed as he repeated his earlier threat, “So goddamned hard, Sansa.”  

She giggled.  

_ She fucking giggled. _ Petyr’s eyes snapped open and he shot her a frustrated glance. She put her hands up and said, “Sorry.”  

“No, you’re not.” He grinned and asked, “How did you know I was here, anyway?  Was it Varys?”

“No.” Sansa laughed, “It was your cologne. I know your smell. And I could hear you chewing your mints.”  

He wanted to kiss her so badly, but the grate would not allow it. They stared back at each other for a moment before she continued, “Arya and I are taking the kids to the park next. Elenei would be ecstatic to have you join us. We can always finish this later.”  

Petyr closed his eyes and exhaled. “Yes, we will.”  

He pulled himself away and straightened himself out before opening the door. Across the marble floor was his sister in law, sitting by a stroller, with a small child by her side.  _ His _ small child. Elenei was four years old going on ten, understanding things on a deeper level than most children her age. She was striking already, her hair long and such a dark brown that it bordered on black. Her eyes were a grey-blue, softer than her mother’s, but equally entrancing. She caught sight of him instantly and exclaimed, “Daddy!”  

Petyr felt the burning desire from moments before fade to a low rumble underneath his skin as he took in his daughter’s innocence and elation over seeing him. He barely heard Sansa’s door click shut as she joined him. Her arm linked around his back as Elenei ran up to them and asked, “How did you do that?! We left you at work! But you’re here!”  

Petyr grinned, “I have my ways.”  

Sansa kissed him on the cheek and spoke to Elenei, “Daddy’s magic.”  

Arya gave them a quizzical look but shook it off as baby Durran cried out from his stroller. She stood up to reach in the stroller for him, making her growing belly much more prominent. Arya had to be at least five months along now. The rugged brunette, known for brawling, was suddenly softened and looked almost maternal as she picked the baby up. She swayed him back and forth, alternating a light bounce as she addressed Sansa, “Sans-- you got any more bottles in here?”  

“Let me check my purse.” She replied, taking her bag off her shoulder. Petyr watched her shift the gun and the silencer aside, reaching past a packet of baby wipes, and pulling out a prepared bottle as she spoke, “I have one left, it’s going to be a quick trip to the park.”  

_ Thank Christ,  _ Petyr thought as he considered getting her home and in bed.  

Elenei reached up for his hand and said, “Don’t worry Daddy, Mum and Auntie-Aerie will take care of the baby while you and I play!”  

“Great,” Petyr’s reply was genuine. He didn’t mind feeding the baby, but he hated doing it in front of the women, always feeling like they were critiquing, even if they never said anything. He would much rather play with Elenei than have mothers on either side of him suggesting various things like burping and feeding.      

Sansa moved to let go of him so that he could better hold onto their daughter when he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, a return gesture for how she had kissed him earlier. It was then that he paused, inhaling her musky scent. His eyes fluttered at that familiar smell, and the knowledge that his suspicion was correct. She had in fact, touched herself as he and an ordained priest listened, with only an inch of divider separating them. Petyr’s voice was thick with his desire for her as he said, “Later, Sansa.  Don’t forget.”  

Sansa smiled and nodded before he let her go. Petyr felt little Elenei tugging on his arm, “I bet we could swing even higher today!”  

“Now Elenei, you know that Mum gets nervous when we swing too high.” Petyr cautioned her within earshot of Sansa, who was now running her fingers through their son’s ruddy hair. She kept her eyes on Petyr as she whispered sweet nothings, her lips against Durran’s face to relax him. The child had calmed down almost immediately at Sansa’s touch. Petyr could relate, he understood all too well the calming effect of Sansa’s fingers brushing his face.      

Elenei gestured for Petyr to lean in, so he crouched down allowing her to whisper in his ear, “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”  

Petyr smirked as he looked back at Sansa who was cocking an eyebrow at the two of them scheming. He kissed his daughter on her forehead and whispered back, “You know she always finds out.”  

Elenei sighed back, “Because  _ you _ always tell her!”  

Petyr chuckled and stood up, “Mums and Dads talk, princess. Now, are we ever going to get to that park?”  

Arya took the lead, pushing the empty carriage. Sansa carried their son, at eight months, now old enough to cling to his bottle as his mother held him close and walked alongside her sister.  Petyr and Elenei followed, hand in hand. As the heavy oak doors opened to the outside world, Petyr’s eyes darted to the curb.  

He was pleased to see the line of cars, filled with men tasked with securing the safety of his family during these outings. He didn’t like exposing the children to the outside world, but he understood that he couldn’t keep them squirreled away at home either. A full security detail felt like the best compromise. He knew that Sansa thought it was overkill, but was relieved to see that she did not argue with him about it. In fact, over the years, she had never put up any resistance when it came to the children’s safety. He was grateful for her faith in him and his decisions. 

The sound of her phone vibrating pulled him from his thoughts. She set the phone in the crook of her neck as she walked down the stairs, holding Durran tight against her. “Took you long enough, whore.” 

Elenei’s eyes grew wide and she looked up at Petyr, excitedly, “ _ Auntie Cers. _ ” 

He rolled his eyes, yes  _ Auntie. _ He listened to Sansa answer, “Of course we’ll come. Tonight?” 

Petyr shot her a quick warning look as Elenei pulled at his arm dragging him down the sidewalk, in the opposite direction of the park two blocks away. Petyr redirected her, and raised a hand, gesturing for the security detail to follow. As they walked, the line of cars creeped down the road. It was a spectacle, but safety was rarely subtle.

Sansa hesitated on the phone, “Well…” 

“We have plans tonight, don’t forget.” Petyr reminded her. 

She smiled at him and nodded. “Sounds absolutely vital to them.” She smirked into the phone, “Best make them wait. Tonight won’t do.” 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. She mouthed, “ _ Stylists.” _

He nodded, knowing all too well how fashion week would take over his wife’s life in the weeks to come. In the past, it had always been Cersei’s event, but as time went on, Sansa had become more and more involved, citing nostalgic reasons. She laughed back into the phone, “The hell with them.” 

Elenei covered her mouth, giggling. Petyr squeezed her hand, “Don’t repeat Mum.” 

“I know!” She scowled at him. “It’s still funny.”

Sansa eyed Petyr, and bit her lip before she answered her phone, “No. Not tonight.” 

She kissed Durran’s soft forehead when he gurgled and cooed in her arms. After a moment, she glanced down at Petyr’s fly and smirked, “ _ Netflix and chill. _ ” 

If Petyr were modest, he would have felt flustered by her blatant meaning. He mused over how he would repay her later for the various cheeky offenses she was racking up. He mouthed back his promise, “ _ So hard. _ ”

Sansa wet her lips and winked at him. Then she scoffed into the phone, “Are you serious?” She shook her head, only slightly jostling Durran as she did. “No way in hell. I wouldn’t let him in my bed after that.” 

“Mum’s not gonna let Durran sleep in bed with you guys anymore.” Elenei looked up at Petyr, unable to contain her grin, her older sister jealousy peeking out. 

“That’s not who she was talking about, princess.” Although, he wished it was. He barely slept on the nights she pulled Durran into bed with them, so worried he’d roll over and crush him. Petyr sighed, “I think she was talking about me.”

Elenei shook her head, “Nope.”

“You’re so sure?” Petyr found himself smiling at her conviction.

“Elenei’s sure about everything,” Arya interjected, slowing down from the lead. She wasn’t yet as belabored with her pregnancy as Petyr had seen Sansa get in the final months, but Arya’s frame was small enough that every ounce gained took its toll on her. “Aren’t you, kiddo?” 

“Yes,” she answered with pride. 

“How are you so certain?” Petyr was dying to know her reasoning. 

She shrugged her little shoulders, and answered, “Because it’s your bed too. She doesn’t own it just her. She can’t say you can’t sleep there too.” 

Arya laughed, and braced herself to squat down and pick up the bottle Durran had dropped on the ground once he’d drained it. Petyr nodded his thanks to her and sighed at Elenei, “If only it worked that way, princess.” 

“It should,” she insisted. 

“What are we talking about?” Sansa asked, having put her phone away. 

“Why won’t you let Daddy sleep in bed?” Elenei rounded on her, looking adorably fierce with her arms crossed over her puffed out chest. “It’s his too!”

Sansa switched Durran to her other hip, and glanced between the Petyr and Arya. “What’s she talking about?”

Arya laughed, pushing the stroller along as she explained, “Elenei’s been eavesdropping again.”

“Apparently, you mean to keep me from our bed?” Petyr gave her a sideways smile, silently daring her to try. It would be good foreplay if nothing else. 

Sansa laughed, and took the little ears that listened into consideration as she explained, “Well, if you did what  _ Uncle Jaime _ did to  _ Auntie Cers _ during  _ mommy-daddy _ time, I would.” 

A thousand raunchy things passed through Petyr’s mind, and not a one of them could be said in front of Elenei. Arya cringed, “Do I want to know?” 

Sansa eyed Elenei as she answered, “He turned the stereo on.” 

“Okay?” Petyr failed to see how that was problematic. 

“You guys listen to music during mommy-daddy time too.” Elenei pointed out, not understanding the adult message in her words. She turned to Arya and rolled her eyes, “ _ Really loud _ .”

Arya belted out a laugh that shook her belly, and Sansa blushed a little. Petyr hung his head, and rubbed his free hand on the back of his neck, completely caught. Sansa shook her head, “It wasn’t music he was listening to.” 

Petyr cocked his head to the side, in question. Curiosity helped Arya regain her composure enough to ask, “What was he listening to, during... _ you know _ ?” 

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek and took a breath to keep herself from laughing. Petyr watched her fight to keep a neutral tone as she answered, “Audiobook.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Arya exclaimed, laughing.

“Daddy listens to books in the car,” Elenei tried contributing. 

Sansa set Durran back in the stroller as she laughed, “Not the same thing, sweetheart.” 

“Was it at least the Kama Sutra?” Arya laughed. 

“No some fantasy book about knights and kings, which only makes it worse.” Sansa shook her head and then cracked a smile as she joked, “The jousting scene must have really done something for him.”

Petyr chuckled as he pictured Jaime in a medieval helmet, fucking Cersei as she sipped from an ornamental goblet. That was an image he wouldn’t be able to scrub from his brain for awhile. He was just about to say so when he heard Elenei squeal, “THE PARK!” Without trepidation, she charged forward, the spiral slide in her sights. 

Petyr glanced around, pleased to see a black suburban at each corner of the playground. Arya pushed Durran in the stroller over the grass. “Wait up, Kiddo. We’re coming.” 

Hanging back with Petyr, Sansa leaned into him, wrapping one arm around his waist as they walked. She glanced around them, and then casually turned to nip his ear, whispering, “We’ll be  _ coming _ soon enough.”

Petyr pictured Sansa sitting in the confessional booth fingering herself, and felt a familiar tingle in his pants. “Mm, perhaps you should go back to confession, you  _ naughty girl _ .” Petyr let his hand slide to her ass, gripping and rubbing. 

She chuckled, knowing exactly what he was feeling for. “They’re the lace brazilian, like you like.”

He wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to guess what underwear she was wearing. It was always a fun pass time. She liked it just as much as he did and it sent the blood rushing back to his cock every time. His face stayed matter-of-fact as he responded, “I hope you don’t like them.” 

“Of course I like them. I picked them out. Why wouldn’t I like them?” Sansa smiled skeptically. 

Petyr smirked, lowering his voice to say, “Because as soon as we’re alone, I’m going to bend you over, rip them off, and pound your pussy as hard and as fast as my dick wants.” 

Her eyes dilated almost instantly, her voice hitching, “Promises, promises.” She cleared her throat and teased him, “Maybe it’s you that needs to confess your sins.”

Petyr squeezed the handful of ass he’d yet to relinquish, and turned to watch Elenei swinging on the monkey bars. Happiness almost split his face with the force of a grin. “No need. I’ve already been blessed.”

  
  
  



	2. Mesozoic Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ONE! VEL-OCI-RAPTOR!”

Sansa fought the dead weight of her own fatigued body as she pulled herself upright. Durran’s persistent cry gave her a strength and resolve she wouldn’t normally have. She stood on wobbly legs in the dark room, gripping the bed as she got her bearings, praying that the traction of her bare feet on the hardwood would help stabilize her as well. She grabbed her robe off the hook, tying it hastily before she opened the door, cursing the light from the hallway and staggering toward his bedroom. Not even the smell of bacon in the air could sooth her frustration with the morning sun. Or with her husband for insisting that Durran sleep in his own room at nine months old. 

They had waited to transition Elenei until she was six months, both still so deathly afraid of SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) long after it was a reasonable concern. They were allowed to be overprotective; she was their first. Durran was different, though. So tiny when he was born, so vulnerable. Sansa spent two and a half weeks in the NICU with him, drowning every germ around in sanitizer and demanding skin to skin contact as much as possible. Petyr was there when he could be, but they had little Elenei to consider, and he had taken over the brunt of caring for her so Sansa could be with Durran. 

The youngest Baelish was sitting up in his crib, gripping the bars and pushing his face against them while unleashing tearful screams. More awake now at the sight of him, Sansa reached for her son, feeling his soggy diaper under her palm. She picked him up, feeling the solid weight of him in her arms as she walked to the changing table. His little hands pawed at her chest, his mouth gumming the satin material of her robe, a couple teeth biting. She laid him down, cooing to him, “I know, I know. You’re starved! You’ve waited this long, a moment longer for a clean bum won’t matter, will it?” He squawked louder to tell her that it most certainly would matter. She wanted to laugh but was simply too tired, and the noise was rather grating. On her second child, Sansa was a pro at changing a diaper in under a minute.

He was quickly back in her arms as she pulled one breast out to feed him. Durran latched on instantly, and she hissed at the pinch of it. Breastfeeding had never been easy for her, but if she’d gone a while between feedings, it definitely relieved the ache. She looked down at his downy auburn locks, filling out more and more now, and the bright green eyes that looked up at her as he suckled. He was so darling; she couldn’t help the grin that grew whenever she looked at him, or traced the outline of his face with her fingers. 

He had come seven weeks early, to everyone’s horror. It was no one’s fault really, though Sansa would always blame herself. Mother’s guilt.  _ Mother’s curse _ -more like. She’d gone to visit Arya at Wolfswood. Petyr didn’t like it, but knew better than to protest. It was only a quick drop by to hand over Bran and Meera’s wedding invitations. She meant to go earlier in the day when business was slower, but time escaped her with little Elenei under foot. Petyr told her that they could send someone else, but Sansa had insisted, saying she wouldn’t mind the opportunity to see her sister. 

She should have listened to him, shouldn’t have gone. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. 

The lineup of bikes outside of Wolfswood should have given her pause, but it didn’t. Sansa Baelish strode confidently towards the door, Brune quick to follow. He was good at what he did--when he was available. Petyr wanted him to retain his position as sergeant on the city’s police force. It was his way of keeping an eye on Stannis and his woman, Melisandre. The Baelishes had met Brune a little while back, and Sansa saw the benefit of keeping him around, especially since Jon wasn’t at her side anymore. Not like he used to be, anyway. 

Ygritte had convinced him to leave the life, whispering in his ear that he shouldn’t be fighting for anyone but himself. If Sansa was only his cousin, she would have supported that advice, but as his boss, she wanted Ygritte strung up by her ankles for rendering her right hand man useless to her. Sansa couldn’t do that to him, though. Jon had gone so long without knowing a woman’s attention, let alone _ love _ . Killing his girlfriend would only drive him over the edge. 

Besides, Sansa wouldn’t let him leave her entirely. She had insisted that he and Ygritte stay in the pool house, citing their familial connection. All she had to do was respect his decision to leave his bodyguard duties--for the time being. She would then work on forming a stronger relationship with Ygritte to ease the woman into things. It was all in an effort to have Jon back again. Sansa truly only trusted him, lacking confidence in anyone else, even those more trained. She knew Jon, knew how he aimed, how his mind worked. That was worth more than ten special trained bodyguards. With Jon, there was a deeper connection. He wouldn’t hesitate before jumping in front of a bullet for her to check his bank account first.  

Sansa stood with Durran, adjusting her robe to keep it mostly closed as she left the room to follow the smell of bacon and the sound of her daughter’s laughter. She walked as confidently down her hallway as she had through the doors of Wolfswood. Smoke had clouded the air, music blaring through the jukebox, and too many rowdy bikers to count were up and moving around. Beer sloshed as they yelled their cheer. Brune leaned into her to be heard: “Please wait in the car, Mrs. Baelish. I’ll get your sister.” 

She should have listened to him. She even considered it, until she saw Arya across the room, one arm around Gendry, her head turned to kiss Bronn. Both men knew of the other’s existence and close proximity, neither seemed plussed over it. Sansa rolled her eyes, knowing she’d never understand their relationship, and took a step forward. Arya was right there, within eyesight, going back to the car seemed silly. She took another couple of steps forward, Brune shielding her to the best of his ability, as she tried to catch Arya’s attention. She didn’t know she’d been hit until she was on the ground, staring up at a bunch of knees and asses. Arya was at her side instantly, pulling her up and fussing over her. Brune was engaged in a fistfight with whomever she assumed was the one who crashed into her. 

It didn’t hurt any more than being knocked on your ass would normally. Panic filled Arya’s eyes as she brought her hand down to Sansa’s belly, “Shit, Sans, are you okay? Is he?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Sansa said it before she felt it. She controlled her breaths to make sure she didn’t suffer the same panic Arya was. She looked straight ahead, watching Gendry flex his bull tattoo, landing punches as he hollered, “ _Pregnant_ _lady_ , you fucker!”

Bronn was at her other side, “I’ve already called your man to come collect you.” 

Sansa groaned, more because he called Petyr than because of her fall. She could feel little Durran moving inside her, and sighed in relief. He was moving. He was fine. “No need, Bronn. I’m fine.” 

“I like my life, got a beautiful woman in it.” He winked at Arya and then smiled at Sansa. “I’d rather not end it early ‘cause I didn’t call Littlefinger when his woman took a tumble.” 

“It’s not your fault, Bronn. You don’t need to fear his wrath,” Sansa chuckled. “I’m pretty sure it was an accident anyway.”

“I’m not fearful. I’m smart.” He pointed to Gendry and Brune fighting against a crowd. “They are too. No one wants to admit Golden Snatch got hurt and they did nothing.” 

Arya eyed him, a small smirk playing on her lips. “And you decided to call Petyr instead of fight with the other boys?” 

He brought one hand up and wiggled his fingers at her. “I’m preserving these. We’ve got plans for them tonight, remember?” 

It was Arya’s deep blush that sent Sansa for the door, deciding she preferred to avoid a front row seat to their intimacy. Petyr arrived shortly after and insisted that she ride home with him. He spent the whole time stealing glances at her and her belly, visibly trying to discern if she was truly alright or not. She let him hold her and promised that she was fine, because she was. It was just a dull persistent ache. 

They’d only been home a half hour or so before she felt so tired she could barely keep her head up. She popped two tylenol and crawled into bed, too tired to take her clothes off. She barely heard Petyr say, “I’m calling Luwin.”

She yawned. “Don’t bother the man, Petyr. I’m fine.” 

But she wasn’t. 

Sansa woke up a few hours later with a sharp pain in her belly and waddled to the bathroom, sucking air in through her teeth as she moved. Her eyes clenched shut, shuddering through a wave of pain, pulling her pants down to sit on the toilet. She knew how uncomfortable gas could be in pregnancy, but she’d never felt it this bad before. She took a deep breath, gently rocking herself forward and backward to relieve the cramping, and opened her eyes. Bright red blood painted the insides of her underwear and pants. She gasped, her hand trembling as she reached forward to touch it. 

No! Tears poured down her cheeks as her mind flashed back to the last time she’d seen this same sight. She wrapped both hands around her rounded belly, begging him to move, begging him to survive. 

Her belly remained still. 

She grabbed the wall beside her, pulling herself and her pants up. She would keep him from coming out. It was ridiculous, and ineffective. She knew that from the child she’d lost but would never forget, July. She couldn’t help the irrational urge she felt to pull her underwear up and clamp her thighs shut, as if that was all there was to the matter. She sat perched on the edge of the bathtub, her legs too unsteady to hold her up long, poking her belly. She was trying to agitate him, make him move, show her he was alive. She glanced up at herself in the mirror, seeing her face as pale as a ghost, and the trail of blood that followed her from the toilet. “ _ Petyr! _ ” She gasped, too weak to call out.

She felt a faint press against her belly button and sobbed uncontrollably, thankful to whatever god was responsible. A sudden pain took her and she felt as if her belly was about to split open. Too affected by her pain, she remained ignorant to the world around her. It wasn’t until she heard Petyr knocking on the door that she realized he was awake. His voice was frantic as he said, “ _ Sansa! _ There’s blood in the bed!  _ Sansa? _ ”

She’d locked the door without realizing it, a habit to avoid a barge in from Elenei. It didn’t stop Petyr, never would. He’d called an ambulance while he picked the door and broke in to find her clutching the side of the tub covered in blood and too weak to do anything more than gasp and shiver at the pain that crushed her.

“Abruptio placentae,” the doctors called it. Apparently the fall had separated the placenta from her uterus, necessitating an emergency c-section. Sansa barely remembered it, just a sheet obstructing her view, her eyes darting around the room frantically. She heard her sister yelling in the distance as hospital security escorted her out. They wouldn’t allow a second person in the room with her in the case of a c-section, especially not one as unruly as Arya. Petyr squeezed her hand, his voice deep and insistent, “Look at me.” 

She stared into the hypnotic green pools of his eyes, her heart thumping in her chest. Only the constant beep of her heart monitor, quick single-word instructions muffled through Luwin’s face mask, and the clang of various metal instruments being used and discarded, filled her ears. 

A nurse on the other side of the blue sheet wall gasped a little and Luwin’s voice raised, “Now! Quickly!” 

Sansa lifted her head, her breathing speeding up. Petyr squeezed her hand, his voice forceful as he demanded, “ _ Only me _ .”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whimpered and locked eyes with him again. She couldn’t respond, only acquiesce. 

Elenei met Sansa in the hallway, stealing her from her memory. “Daddy made breakfast! But he’s on the phone so you gotta be quiet.” 

Sansa smiled down at the beautiful girl that took so much after Petyr; she couldn’t help but feel her heart swell in love. “Oh really?” 

“Yeah! Come on!” She muckled onto Sansa’s free hand and pulled her into the kitchen. 

“Did you have pancakes? With syrup?” Sansa asked, raising an eyebrow at her. 

Elenei looked up quickly, her jet black hair falling behind her as she craned her neck up and answered defensively, “Daddy said I could!” 

“I don’t mind that you had pancakes, sweetheart. I’d like you to wash your hands after though.” Sansa rubbed her fingers against each other. “ _ My _ hand’s sticky now.”

“Oh!” Elenei giggled and then ran for the bathroom. 

Petyr was standing over the stove, looking divine in his sweatpants and a tight white cotton undershirt. He held his phone in the crook of his neck as he cooked bacon. “No, that would be great,” he answered, glancing at her. He smiled and leaned over when she neared, to give her a quick kiss before gesturing to her plate at the table. 

Sansa noted that he’d left her the newspaper, and a cup of  _ decaf _ \--the downfall of breastfeeding. She sat down, reaching for one of the packages of wet wipes that seemed littered about her home. She cleaned her sticky hand and used her finger to break Durran’s suction seal, lifting him to her shoulder and rubbing his back to help encourage his burp. 

She remembered feverishly struggling to wiggle her toes, trying desperately to become cleared to see her son, as he fought to stay alive. She’d listened to the nurses educate her on what to expect with a premature child, what precautions to take, how careful to be. The entire time, chomping at the bit to hold him to her, mindful of all the tubes and wires. Her time in the hospital seemed endless, at his side, willing his lungs to get stronger. A few weeks later, they had, and little Durran Baelish was cleared for discharge with a thick booklet of information on how to raise a premature baby, what milestones would be delayed. He was slower to meet them, that was true, but he hadn’t ever missed the window of “normal,” to both her and Petyr’s pride.

Even though he was always considered “normal,” his development would forever be defined by the traumatic way in which he was born. If Sansa had been paying attention to the news while she lived in the NICU with him, she would have heard about the four motorcycles belonging to the “Wildings” biker gang, that were found piled in a large pyre by the river, their owners not found. When word of such small consolation to the struggle her son would face got back to Sansa through more  _ unconventional _ methods, Sansa wondered who was responsible, Petyr or Arya?

Petyr barely left her, but then again, he didn’t need to leave in order to pass judgement and carry out the sentence. 

Her husband wasn’t the only protective person in Sansa’s life, however. She thought of the way Arya fought against the three hospital security guards, determined to stay by her side as she went under the knife. With one look at the rage in her eyes, Sansa knew that it could have just as easily been Arya who sought vengeance for the sister that almost bled out on the bathroom floor. Whoever had done it, two things were certain: Durran Baelish was exceeding the doctors’ expectations, and the world was short four clumsy Wildings. 

Much like Elenei, Durran had a name before he was born, though in his particular case, it was Sansa’s choosing. Petyr had named Elenei after something precious in his wife’s childhood, so when the time came to name their son, Sansa insisted on doing the same for Petyr. He had scoffed at that, replying that there wasn’t anything precious about his childhood. Sansa respectfully disagreed and walked over to the safe hidden in their bedroom, pulling out a CD from way in the back to show him. She still remembered the way he eyed her skeptically and asked, “You want to name him  _ Planet Earth _ ?” 

She’d rolled her eyes and told him he was being difficult. The band,  _ Duran Duran _ ’s single,  _ Planet Earth _ , had been the first ever CD that Petyr had actually purchased--rather than stole. It held a special place in his heart, and she knew it. He chuckled as he stared down at it, lost in a memory. “I could only afford the single at the time, not the whole album.” She reached for him, resting her head on his shoulder as he looked at it. His voice softened as he asked, “How did you know?” 

Sansa teased, “You are not the only one in this marriage that can find things out.” After a couple of seconds she took pity on him and laughed, “I had a clue when you wanted to name Elenei,  _ Rio _ . A quick internet search later, and a list of their discography brought me to the name and picture of the CD you mysteriously keep in our safe under everything else. I knew it was special, but I didn’t know how. Not until I spoke with Varys.” 

Petyr groaned, “I blame that damn cognac. Only time I’ve ever spilled a information while under the influence.”

“It’ll be a mystery only we share. We’ll spell it differently and everything. No one will know.” She kissed his cheek. 

“Like  _ Petyr- _ -with a Y?” He laughed sarcastically. It was no secret how little he appreciated the name his biological mother left him with before she stole out of the maternity ward, leaving her fragile baby behind to score her next fix. 

She took the CD from his hand and tossed it on the bed, moving to stand in front of him. His arms surrounded her as she rested her forehead against his, holding his gaze, “Let me do this for you.” She tilted her head and kissed him, melting his earnestness with a press of her lips. 

When she pulled away, his eyes fluttered open, his breathing heavy. He brought his hands to the rounded belly that sat between them. “Durran it is. Two R’s.”

“Two R’s?” She giggled. 

“Mm,” He smiled, still punch drunk from her kiss. His hands gripped her shoulder straps and pulled her shirt down, exposing her breasts to him. “ _ Two. _ ”

Durran’s burp over her shoulder pulled her from the warm memory of his naming, and brought her attention to the dampness on her shoulder from his continued attempts to nurse it. Elenei laughed, “Silly baby! That’s not where your food is!” Then her cheeks turned red as she giggled, “It’s in Mummy’s privates!” 

Petyr covered the phone with his palm and scolded Elenei, “It’s natural, princess, not something to laugh about.” 

Elenei giggled harder as she bounced her dolls off the table, imitating him. Sansa smirked and pulled the other side of her robe open, switching breasts to better even out Durran’s feed. 

Sansa noticed how Petyr had turned around completely, watching her as he spoke into the phone, “Of course, you’re welcome. The city would only benefit from a visit.” She blew him a kiss playfully and then brought the other side of her robe to a close. 

Durran grunted against her breast, bringing his tiny fist up to slap and grab at the flesh in front of him as he gorged himself on her. Petyr covered the mouthpiece and whispered down to Durran, “ _ Show off _ .” 

Sansa almost spit her drink, laughing at her husband’s mock jealousy. He grinned at that, always pleased with himself when he could put a smile on her face. She whispered, “Who is it?” 

He mouthed back, “ _ Oberyn. _ ”

There was only one ‘Oberyn’ that they knew,  _ Oberyn Martell, _ the man from their honeymoon. He was in Braavos at the same time they were, and had established himself quite nicely, enjoying a vacation home or two there. It made sense that Petyr would connect with him when they arrived; Oberyn had lots of fun chemical aids to their good time. She remembered how passionate Petyr was, claiming her then as he should have after their wedding, had he not been recovering from a rather mortal wound that ran the length of his torso. 

She wondered how much of that was pent up frustration on his part for being an invalid for so long, and how much of it was a primal need to match if not exceed Oberyn’s so blatant virility. Oberyn and his wife, Ellaria were in an _ extremely _ open marriage, and that fact was shared with every beautiful body that passed by either of them. For the briefest of moments, Sansa imagined what it would be like should she and Petyr find themselves in the couple’s bed, but quickly dashed that thought away at a steamy look from Petyr before he dragged her somewhere more private to devour her. 

Why would Oberyn be coming to town? In the seven years she’d known him, he’d always been their friend overseas, never stepping foot into their city. It was a good sign that he was talking to Petyr before hand; it showed respect. Had he also called the Lannisters? Cersei had never spoken of him, and for her in particular, that could either be a good thing or a very bad thing. She pulled her phone up and was about to text Cersei,  _ You know of an Oberyn Martell? _ But stopped herself. If the relationship was contentious in anyway, a message like that would alert her to his impending presence. 

She glanced up at Petyr again, watching him leer at her exposed chest. She whispered to him, playfully scolding, “Breastfeeding is not a sexual act. It’s natural, you said so yourself.” 

“Sex is natural, too,” He whispered back with a wink. “Oh?” He focused back in the phone, standing up straighter. She smirked, pleased to have successfully distracted him a little. Hopefully not enough to matter, just enough to tease. He turned back around to the stove, pulling the frying pan off of it as he continued, “That’s entirely possible. We’ll get the wives together.” 

Sansa lifted her head at that. She hadn’t had any time alone with Ellaria, and wondered what she was like away from Oberyn. As Cersei always said,  _ We’re different with our men than we are with everyone else _ . It would be interesting to see how different Ellaria was. 

“Oh no, that’s a shame,” Petyr scraped the bacon onto the plate by the stove. “Sansa will be disappointed.”

“Will I?” She whispered, snagging a piece and brought it to her mouth, a coy smile playing across her lips. 

“Mum!” Elenei hollered from the living room. “I can’t get the game to work.” 

“Remember how Uncle Jon showed you?” Sansa answered, not taking her eyes off of Petyr.

Little feet stomped back into the living room. 

Petyr smiled at her as he finished his call, “See you soon.”

“Oberyn’s visiting?” Sansa asked, knowing the answer. 

Petyr leaned back against the counter, making no effort to hide how he stared at her chest. “Yes, fashion week. He’s bringing over some product, hoping to get a foothold here, Braavosi enforcement has gotten a touch stronger.” He rubbed his chin, not lifting his gaze as he continued, “Ellaria won’t be accompanying him. She’s seeing to their youngest. She’s sick. Nothing serious, but enough to hold her back for a bit.” 

“Do we want his business over here?” Sansa asked, feeling their work take precedence over her flirtation. 

Petyr shrugged, finally tearing his eyes from her. “Options don’t hurt. And he’ll be naturally inclined to work with us over the Lannisters.” 

“Ow!” Sansa felt a slight pinch as Durran nipped her nipple.

Elenei came skipping in with an astute observation. “Did he bite you?” 

Sansa nodded, “Just a bit.”

“Oo, can I have your bacon?” Elenei asked, already grabbing the slice of salty meat off Sansa’s plate. She crammed a whole piece in her mouth as she turned to Durran and spoke sternly, “You need to be nice to Mum’s privates, they’re Daddy’s!” 

“ _ Elenei! _ ” Sansa exclaimed, shocked at her daughter’s words, so direct. Then she looked over at Petyr who grinned devilishly. “Really, Petyr?” 

“What?” Elenei looked between them, confused. “Daddy always says they’re his.”

Petyr’s grin could have broken his face with it’s glee. He reached in the top cupboard and pulled out one of Elenei’s favorite fruity-snacks and handed them to her, giving the top of her head a kiss as he did. “Good girl. Protecting Daddy’s interests.” 

“ _ Petyr! _ ” Sansa smiled as she dropped her jaw dramatically.

Elenei giggled, “Uh-oh! Daddy’s in troub-le!”

Petyr picked her up and pretended to look worried as he asked, “Do you think she’ll spank me?” 

“No,” Elenei giggled. “Mumma doesn’t spank!” 

He flashed Sansa a dirty grin, “Pity.” 

“What does ‘pity’ mean?” Elenei asked. 

“Nevermind,” Petyr shook his head. 

Sansa smirked, “Oh, no. You’ve got to explain. It’s how we expand her vocabulary.” 

“ _ Yeeeaaaah _ !” Elenei teased him.

Petyr gave her a kiss on the cheek and sighed. “It’s when you feel bad for someone, princess. Or when you’re sad something didn’t work out.” 

Elenei’s brow furrowed as she tried to apply this new knowledge to the conversation at hand. “But...but Daddy, spankings hurt.” 

For the second time that morning, Sansa almost spit her coffee out. 

Petyr set their daughter down and mussed her hair. “I know. But if I deserve a punishment, who am I to escape it?” 

Elenei blinked at him a few times, unsure of how to respond. Sansa took  _ pity _ on him and redirected the conversation, careful how she posed the question with Elenei around. “Why wouldn’t our friend be as inclined to get on with the other half of the city?” 

Petyr caught her meaning easily and explained, “Well, that’s because they did something very naughty to our friend’s sister.” 

“Did they?” Sansa cocked her head in surprise. She hadn’t ever heard Cersei speak of the Martells in all their time together. Oberyn and Elyria lived across the sea; perhaps it was an out of sight, out of mind sort of thing? However, if the Lannisters had done something ‘very naughty’ to his sister, it was doubtful they forgot. Oberyn may not be running half a city like they were, but anyone looking at him could tell he had power and influence of his own. 

“They should apologize!” Elenei intruded, bouncing her doll off the back of an empty kitchen chair. 

Petyr grabbed a slice of bacon off the plate he’d been standing by and took a bite. “I agree.” He then turned to Sansa as he said carefully, “Unfortunately, it’s hard to apologize when the injured party doesn’t know who injured them. Especially when the injury is  _ final _ .”

Final was death. The Lannisters killed Oberyn’s sister and he didn’t know it. She instantly thought of Arya and the excruciating torture she would bring to anyone who harmed her. This was different, though. Oberyn didn’t know who. “If our friend isn’t aware, then I don’t understand the hesitation in making nice with the neighbors.” 

“He doesn’t know, but he  _ suspects.  _ Or at least, he hasn’t ruled it out of the realm of possibility as he has with us,” Petyr crunched another bite. 

Sansa took another sip of her coffee, careful to turn her head as she did. She’d always feared that she would spill the hot beverage on the child in her arms, even when he was sleeping and the beverage was cold. It may have been an irrational worry, but it eased her mind to take more care, so she did. “And we’ve been ruled out as a possibility, because?” 

“You were still in high school and I was actually out on a job with Oberyn when it happened.” Petyr’s eyes gazed off in the distance as they usually did whenever he thought of the past. 

Sansa brought his attention back to her, making a show of catching a dribble of coffee on the side of her mug, her tongue fully extended to lick it up. She gave him a grin. “How fortunate for us.” She took another drink and then asked, “If you know that it was our neighbors, why haven’t you shared this information with Oberyn?” 

“It hasn’t been beneficial for us to. If it becomes so, we will.” He glanced over at Elenei skipping back into the living room before he waved his hand, following another train of thought. “I think he needs to burp.” 

Sansa eyed him suspiciously, “Why? He seems fine.” 

“Humor me,” he laughed. 

“Okay…” Sansa pulled Durran from her breast and propped him up against her shoulder. 

Petyr reached to adjust his pants as he added quickly, “Other shoulder.” 

“What? Why?” Sansa asked, moving Durran to her other shoulder. The feel of the cold air against her fully exposed breast was explanation enough, but she still felt the need to flick her gaze to his groin for verification. It was, as expected, pressed against his sweatpants, begging her to free it.  She rolled her eyes at him. “Way to pitch a tent, Petyr.” 

“We’re going  _ camping _ !” Elenei squealed with excitement, bounding back into the kitchen. Sansa covered her breast. Oblivious to the momentary nudity, Elenei asked, “Where are we putting the tent?”  

As if he hadn’t noticed his ever-present daughter jumping around, Petyr snickered, “I’m sure Mum can help me find a place.” 

It was corny, but it was working. Sansa felt a familiar stir low in her belly as she pictured herself laying on the kitchen table, back in a pile of bacon as he impaled her with his camping equipment. 

“Where can he put it, Mum?” Elenei asked innocently, ignorant to her mother’s mental imagery, or the underlying meaning of her own words. 

With Elenei’s back turned to Petyr, he rubbed the bulge in his pants as he asked, “Yeah, Sansa. Where can I _ put it _ ?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you.” She smiled suggestively at him while she rubbed Durran’s back. 

“ _ Where? _ ” Elenei could barely contain herself. 

Durran burped into Sansa’s ear again as she waited for any more tell-tale signs of hunger from him, staring straight ahead at the bulge in Petyr’s pants. She was pleased to see that it wasn’t lessening any. He would be aching for her quite profoundly by the time she could get to it. When Durran gave no indication of hunger, she rose from her chair, and angled herself away from Elenei’s view. She was turned just so to be directly in Petyr’s line of sight as she put the baby in his bouncy seat. Her robe was too short, requiring her to crouch whenever she needed to reach something low, but with Elenei on the other side of her, unable to see, she made it a point to bend over at the waist, baring the pink flesh where her legs met. 

She heard a strangled groan behind her as she answered Elenei, “Well, sweetheart, I’d say probably somewhere in the yard.” 

“Will Uncle Jon and Auntie Ygritte camp with us?” Elenei asked, her eyes wide and hopeful. 

Sansa bent down further to pick up some of the toys that had fallen, and smiled when she heard Petyr’s cough. “We can ask when we see them,” she answered, setting the toys on Durran’s bouncer. 

He slapped at them, trying to grip, a big grin on his face. Sansa leaned forward, kissing the top of his head as she grinned, “That’s my happy boy.” 

“I’m a boy, and I’m very happy. Would you like to kiss me?” Petyr teased behind her. 

“Eww,” Elenei stuck her tongue out in a disgusted face. 

Sansa stood up and smiled over her shoulder as she spoke to her daughter, “Elenei, sweetheart, would you like to play hide-and-go-seek?” 

“Yes!” She yelled. 

Sansa turned around, and zeroed in on Petyr as she said, “Okay, you count first.” 

“How many?” Elenei asked. 

Petyr answered, eyes locked on Sansa as she took some steps towards him, “Twenty Velociraptors.” 

“ _ Twenty? _ ” Elenei asked in disbelief. “I can’t count to twenty.”

Sansa took another couple of steps toward Petyr, her finger playing with the neckline of her robe. “How high can you count?” 

“Um,” Elenei thought aloud. “Um, sixteen!” 

“Okay, just count to sixteen twice,” Sansa answered, playfully biting her lip for Petyr. 

Elenei’s little hand shot out, landing on Sansa’s forearm, stopping her. “Does that equal twenty?” She asked, quite skeptically for her four year old self.

“ _ Yes! _ ” 

Petyr’s lie was eager, and it made Sansa smile before she turned to Elenei, “Go to the living room to count. Daddy and I need to hide.”

Elenei was barely out of sight before Sansa was on Petyr, pushing him backwards through the door to the pantry. His mouth accepted hers, sucking the tongue she thrust into it. Her palms laid flat on his chest, guiding him to where she could better ravish him. Unwilling to be taken so easily without any retaliation, he gripped her ass, kneading as she led. Sansa pushed the door mostly closed behind them, leaving it open a crack so she could still see Durran, spinning one of the mirror toys on his seat.  

“ _ ONE! VEL-OCI-RAPTOR! _ ” Elenei’s muffled voice called out.

Petyr tugged her robe open, exposing her nudity underneath. He sucked in air, looking her up and down for a fraction of a second before he brought his hands back to her ass, pulling her flush against him. Sansa squirmed in his arms, taking his mouth with hers as she pushed the waistband of his sweats down his thighs. 

_ “THREE VEL-OCI-RAPTOR!”  _

His hand found her hair, pulling it back to break her mouth from his. She panted, caught in his grip, her hand wrapping around his erection between them. Petyr grinned, whispering into her open mouth, “You like bending over for me?” 

Sansa chuckled softly up at him, approving of what she knew he would do next. He held his free hand out and whispered, “Go ahead.” 

Without hesitation, Sansa spit in the palm of his hand and stifled a giggle as he whipped her around. She heard her saliva slick as he rubbed it all over his cock, pushing her forward until her ass was in the perfect position. Petyr took no time to check her, or prepare her, before he pressed himself against her opening. A tiny push forward to verify that he was right where they needed him to be was the only warning she got before he plunged himself so deeply, so completely, inside her. The sheer force of it made her gasp and clutch the pantry shelf in front of her. 

“ _ NINE VEL-OCI-RAPTOR! _ ” 

He gripped her hips, slapping hard into her at a grueling pace. She had been damp for him since she saw him standing in the kitchen cooking. Everything since then had merely been the foreplay to keep her that way. The deeper her got, the wetter her arousal, drizzling down his shaft, collecting in a drip on his balls. Her fingers buried between her folds as she moaned silently, smelling their mingled musk in the small confined space. 

_ “FOURTEEN VEL-OCI-RAPTOR! _ ”

Calves hard as rock up on tiptoe, her legs trembled as the waves rolled between them, hugging and squeezing the cock that refused to retreat. She bit her lip to temper the low whine of exultation. It was hard not to sing her husband’s praise in a string of profanities and broken words, but she managed, too aware of the little girl innocently counting in the background. Sansa abandoned her swollen and pleasantly abused clit to reach lower between her legs and massage the balls that smacked against her at a steady speed.

“ _ ONE VEL-OCI-RAPTOR _ !” 

Fuck. Elenei had already gotten through the first set of sixteen. How did that happen? Sansa whispered back, “Let me suck you!” 

She knew she could get him off quicker with her tongue. He kept pumping, fingers digging into her, ignoring her direction. 

“ _ TWO VEL-OCI-RAPTOR! _ ” 

Sansa changed tactics, knowing exactly how to get what she wanted. She looked back over her shoulder, pushing her lips into a pout, “ _ Petyr _ .” 

He kept thrusting, “Huh?” 

She let her eyelids flutter and softened her voice as she said, “I didn’t get any breakfast.” 

His mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed as he panted, “ _ What? _ ”

“Fill my belly?” She licked her lips, pouting back at him. “Please? I’m so hungry.” 

“ _ SIX VEL-OCI-RAPTOR! _ ”

He nodded vigorously, pulling out so abruptly she groaned in protest at the sudden emptiness. Wasting no time, she dropped to her knees, and took him in her mouth. He fell back into the wall behind him as she flattened her tongue and bobbed her head, licking through a layer of her own flavor before she got to the taste of his skin, her hand jerking his base as fast as she could. She opened her eyes to look up at him staring down at her, breathing hard through clenched teeth. He shivered, petting her hair as she licked and sucked him, her free hand gently tugging some of the light hair on his sack. 

“ _ ELEVEN VEL-OCI-RAPTOR! _ ” 

The sound of his cock gliding in and out her mouth smacked and slurped as she prayed he’d come soon, not wanting Elenei to catch them in the act. Sansa chided herself for letting him take her from behind. She’d meant to do this from the start, surprise him with a quick bj and then go back to her bacon, but she’d teased him too much and her need grew from a little wetness to an outright throb pleading to be addressed. She wouldn’t deny him from something she could so easily fulfill, so she turned around and let him bend her over, with very little consideration for time. 

One hand dug in her hair and the other clutched her neck as she pressed her thumb into the underside of his erection, worrying it in little circles with the perfect pressure. When they laid naked in bed, their bodies writhing against each other, each move matched with another in a most intimate dance, it was easy to feel they were making love. To the casual observer, their actions in that pantry could be construed in a different light. Her robe hung open for his viewing pleasure, knees digging into to the tile floor of the dark claustrophobic pantry, cock lodged deep in her throat, all said lust, not love. However, the shared look between their dilated eyes, the way the pads of their fingers dug into each other, all brought the sentiment back to their more tender moments, in the most obscene way. 

_ “FIFTEEN VEL-OCI-RAPTOR! _ ” 

“Ssss--” He tried to warn, cut off by his own biology. 

Sansa felt the underside of his shaft surge and pulse before she tasted the salty wash of cum flow down the back of her tongue. She jerked him a couple more times, letting her thumb press along the length of him, milking the last of his cum. She flashed him a quick view of what she was able to collect on her tongue. 

“ _ You’re so fucking sexy _ ,” he groaned, trying to catch his breath. He held her jaw, and let his thumb brush her cheek and lips as he reached to pull up his pants. Sansa turned her head in his hand and captured his thumb in her mouth. She closed her eyes as she sucked his digit, gulping back the cum she’d been carrying on her tongue.

_ “HERE I COME!” _

Sansa opened her eyes and returned his thumb to him. She grinned proudly and tied her robe shut as she started to stand, her knees protesting. The taste of cum was still in the roof of her mouth as Petyr pulled her into a kiss. 

“Eww!” A tiny, very recognizable voice judged them from below. 

Petyr sighed, smiling against her lips, his hands refusing to let her go. Sansa kept her eyes closed, forehead resting against his as she whispered, “If she thought that was gross…” 

Elenei wedged herself between them, her chin pushed into Petyr’s abdomen as she looked up at them. “Now you gotta find me. What are you going to count?” 

In the past four years, Sansa had gotten used to acting nonchalant in front of Elenei after a secret sexual encounter. As if nothing had happened, she pulled her face off of Petyr and let her fingers stroke Elenei’s hairline as she asked, “What would you like us to count?” 

“Brontosaurus!” 

“No,” Petyr shook his head. 

Elenei pursed her lips. “Why not?” 

Sansa cocked an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, why not?” 

Durran squawked in his seat and Petyr moved to pick him up, explaining as he went, “Because Brontosaurus isn’t a real dinosaur, princess. Real dinosaurs only.” 

“Yes it is,” Sansa laughed, thinking of all the toy dinosaurs her little brothers had growing up. She was certain a good amount of them depicted brontosauruses.

He lifted Durran easily, holding him to his chest and speaking to Sansa and Elenei as he smiled at him. “Afraid not. It’s too close to another species to be it’s own. Look it up, I’m right.” 

“I don’t think you are,” she challenged. 

“Stegosaurus!” Elenei interjected, clearly not caring about the validity of a species of dinosaur her mother had grown up with, having moved on to another dinosaur so easily. 

Sansa chuckled a little watching Petyr tickling Durran’s belly. He was the older one in the relationship; he’d lived with Brontosaurus longer than her. If anything, he should have been defending its existence as staunchly as she was prepared to. His voice was a low rumble as he said, “One Steg-o-saur-us.” 

Elenei’s eyes grew wide, as she ran off, squealing with glee. Sansa walked back towards the table and grabbed a slice of toast off her plate, only mildly disappointed at how cold it was. She surveyed all the breakfast foods Petyr had laid out. “You must have gotten up rather early this morning to do all this.” 

Petyr carried Durran with him as he placed some dishes in the sink. “Yes, I was woken.” 

“Woken?” That got her attention. 

Petyr turned away from Durran, raising his voice as he said, “Four Steg-o-saur-us!” He turned back to Sansa, “Bran called.” 

She leaned to check her phone only to realize she’d left it in the bedroom. “You?”

“Yes,” he threw egg shells in the trash. 

Sansa bristled, “You and not me?” 

“Eb-beb-bab-bah!” Durran exclaimed, reaching for Petyr’s face. 

He turned to him, grinning, “Oh, really?” He held a handful of cereal in front of him and watched Durran use his thumb and index finger to pick at it. Petyr turned to Sansa, “He’s almost got it.”

She knew he was focusing on his fine motor skills, as that had been the next milestone in all the baby books. They had paid close attention to them all when Elenei was born, wanting the best for their first born. Now with Durran, they paid close attention, proud to prove medical expectation wrong whenever possible. 

Sansa called out, “Eight Steg-o-saur-us!” She addressed Petyr again, “Why would my brother call you and only you, so early in the morning?” 

“He wants work,” Petyr answered, letting Durran feed him the bits of cereal he was able to wedge in between his lips.

Sansa would have laughed at the sight of Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish, the most dangerous man she’d ever met, submitting to the will of a nine month old, if she wasn’t feeling her body tense with irritation. “We don’t give Bran work, he knows that.” 

Petyr crunched another piece of cereal, forcefully crammed into his mouth. “He was desperate.” 

“Desperate? Why?” She hated that her thoughts jumped to drugs every single time Bran had trouble. It had been a good four years since he’d used, possibly even closer to five. She wondered at what point her mind would stop going there, if it ever would. 

“No, thank you, Durran. I couldn’t eat another bite.” Petyr closed his mouth and shook his head. Durran laughed and brought the cereal to his own mouth, trying to catch it. Petyr cocked his head and looked at Sansa in exasperation, “Meera’s pregnant.” 

“They  _ just _ got married.” Sansa’s jaw fell. She remembered the quiet backyard ceremony they’d had--in  _ their _ backyard. The Reeds were not as pleased by how informal the affair was, but accepted it because Petyr and Sansa ruled half the city. “Oh no, do you think that’s why they got married?” 

Petyr pecked a ghost of a kiss against Durran’s baby-fine hair. “It’s one of the top ranking reasons for getting married.” 

“That was not an answer,” Sansa narrowed her gaze at him. She raised her voice, “Twelve steg-o-saur-us!”

Petyr sighed, “I don’t know. But, if I had to wager a guess, I’d say no. Your brother has been wanting to marry that woman for  _ years _ .”

Sansa sighed. It was true. She didn’t like how Bran and Meera had come into each other’s lives, but she was glad they found each other again. Meera took her recovery seriously and wouldn’t abide a man that didn’t feel the same. It had taken Bran two years of dating to wear her down enough to agree to move in together, and it was another two years after that before he could slide a small one carat ring on her finger. There was serious doubts as to whether or not it would be another two years before she allowed the long walk to the altar too. She was so careful, living on the straight and narrow.

It was difficult at times to have her around family events, them not being as clean as she would like. Meera was a Reed however, which Petyr and Sansa had learned was something in her favor. The Reeds had always been loyal to her parents. They were a more quiet family, which was why they didn’t announce themselves when Sansa stepped into power, but they stayed true to their loyalties and never worked against the Baelishes’ rule. Now with his only daughter tied to a Stark, Howland Reed was even more so at their disposal. The Reeds and Baelishes had met to discuss the importance of the couples’ continued sobriety. Fortunately, everyone was on the same page. Neither Bran nor Meera would receive work from either a Baelish or a Reed, the families wanting them as far removed from the life as possible. 

As a point of interest, Sansa pulled Howland’s wife, Jyana aside and forced information from her. Petyr had asked one night while they lay in bed, how Meera’s family could pull strings to get her work as a paramedic, but they couldn’t seem to procure her, her child. 

Jyana swallowed, staring down at the ground. “She didn’t want him back. Too worried she’d relapse.” 

Something in the woman’s mannerisms told Sansa that she wasn’t being entirely truthful. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation on Sansa’s part, Elenei was still an infant at the time, and a rather wakeful one. Whatever the cause, her instincts told her that there was more to the story than the Reeds were divulging so she pressed the woman harder. “ _ Him _ ? You know the child, do you?” 

Jyana glanced up at Sansa, meeting her eye. “He is a Reed.” 

“Who’s the father?” Sansa was as modern as they came, but she knew the focus on Meera’s last name meant that the father was either exceedingly important or horribly disappointing.

Jyana lifted her chin, her body rigid as she repeated, “He is a Reed.” 

Sansa chuckled, “Like that, is it?” 

“Us northerners mind what’s ours,” Jyana inhaled, her voice hard. “I trust you understand.” 

A memory flashed in front of her eyes of her father cocking his gun as he explained, “Us northerners mind what’s ours.” 

He stepped out of their garage, around the corner behind the shrubs her mother had planted in the spring. Sansa remembered sitting on the hood of Catelyn’s land rover, swinging her legs as she heard a muffled male voice plead and beg her father. Ned Stark said nothing. Another, clearer voice spoke, “Yeah, it was him. He was the one that left Glover behind.” She fought the flinch she felt at the sudden sound of gunshots. 

She stared back at Jyana, her face unmoving as she stood her ground, unwilling to divulge anymore information about Meera’s child, not even to Sansa Baelish herself. Sansa respected that. It didn’t make her any less curious, but it definitely raised Jyana Reed’s esteem in Sansa’s eyes. 

Petyr’s voice pulled her from her memories, “Ready or not, here we come!” 

Sansa made some stomping sound with her feet before she brought her focus back to Bran. “He called you for work, understanding what’s at stake?” 

“He was hoping the Reeds wouldn’t have to know about any extra income source we would be providing him.” Petyr set Durran back in his chair. 

“ _ All  _ the Reeds?” Sansa thought of how long and hard Bran worked to prove himself clean to Meera.

Petyr shrugged, taking a few steps down the hall. “He is counting on our discretion.”

Secrets. Lies. Habits of addiction--of  _ addicts _ .

“We don’t give Bran work,” Sansa repeated, channelling Jyana’s example. 

Petyr opened the bathroom door, giving it a quick look as he spoke over his shoulder, “It is natural for a man to want to provide for his child, the best way he knows how.” 

Refusing to violate the pact with the Reeds, or chance ruining four years of sobriety, Sansa shook her head. “We don’t give Bran work, Petyr. Tell me you said no.”

“Hmm. Where could Elenei be?” Petyr asked loudly before turning back towards Sansa. “I said no.”

She closed her eyes and crossed her arms. “You’re lying.” 

“When have I ever lied to you?” He wrapped his arms around her, pressing small kisses to her cheek. “We don’t give Bran work--I know.” 

“It seemed you questioned,” Sansa tilted her head, allowing him to nuzzle into her neck. 

His teeth grazed her shoulder. “I simply saw his point of view.” 

Sansa let go of her arms and wrapped one around Petyr. “It’s always his point of view that gets him in trouble.” 

“Too true,” Petyr sighed into her neck. 

“Eeeeeek-ka! Eeeek!” Durran exclaimed from his chair, his little legs flexing, bouncing him up and down as he reached towards them. 

Petyr squeezed Sansa tighter, smiling at the baby. “Too bad, little man. You can’t have her, she’s all mine.” 

Sansa eyed him as she teased, “ _ Show off. _ ” 

“Damn straight,” he smirked.

Loud stomping down the hall interrupted their moment as Elenei approached, a toothy grin on her face. “You couldn’t find me! I’m too good!”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy the fluff and smut of this chapter because in chapter 3 shit gets real!


	3. Runway Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry--are we actually talking about how Cersei’s cunt tastes right now?” Tyrion laughed with a distinct note of disbelief.

“Cersei! Time has been a good friend to you,” Oberyn smiled, taking her hand to give it a kiss, that was a bit more than polite. He then leaned in and lowered his voice as he added, “One must wonder if like a fine wine, your _ flavor _ has only grown more potent as well?”

She laughed lightly, just the perfect amount of amusement. Petyr appreciated her ability to access her own method of charm when circumstances warranted. So often she presented herself as clever and brusque, even with Sansa, someone she clearly favored. He didn’t enjoy the liking that Cersei Lannister had taken to Sansa, but was smart enough to see that it often played to their favor.

Before Cersei could answer, Jaime wrapped an arm around her and chuckled, “She’s an acquired taste, one I’m absolutely  _ greedy _ for.”

Petyr noted how he used the word ‘greedy’ and not ‘glutton.’ This wasn’t about how frequently or repeatedly he felt the need of what his wife had to offer, so much as how little he’d allow it shared with another man. Jaime might as well have pissed on her, for how clearly he was marking his territory. Petyr glanced at Sansa’s plunging neckline and considered making a similar gesture. He told himself that he needn’t bother. Oberyn’s memory was not faulty, and it had been made clear to both him and his notoriously open wife that the Baelishes kept to themselves when it came to matters of the bedroom.

“I’m sorry--are we actually talking about how Cersei’s cunt tastes right now?” Tyrion laughed with a distinct note of disbelief. It made them all turn and cast their gaze down, as if only then remembering his presence. 

Sansa gave him a small smile. He knew she would admire how Tyrion crudely pointed out the obvious. Petyr took the opportunity to involve himself in the conversation more by squeezing her hip as he sipped his drink and shrugged, “ _ I’m _ not.”

“Good man,” Jaime tipped his head towards him with a playful grin.

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Oberyn turned his full attention to Sansa now and Petyr felt his grip tighten, ever so subtly. “With a fiery enchantress such as this on your arm!” 

He reached for Sansa’s hand, closing his eyes and sniffing it. “Mm, a scent so sweet and yet I can tell, there is a spice under the saccharine.” 

Petyr watched her cheeks flush as Oberyn kissed the back of her hand, lingering longer than was ever necessary. Jaime snickered and Tyrion took a sip of his drink, mumbling, “ _ Oh fuck. _ ” 

Though he fought the tension he felt, it only intensified when Petyr felt Sansa squirm in his grip, her voice gushing, “Oberyn, you flatter me.” Was she enjoying this? Falling for these cheesy lines? No. Not Sansa. Not  _ his _ Sansa. 

Oberyn started to pull from her hand, though kept his hold of it as he continued. “Many foolish men must think your spirit comes from the vibrant color of your hair. And, while it has a brilliance I’ve yet to see matched, it is not your hair that promises your  _ vigor _ .”

“Oh? Tell us how you know Sansa’s good in the sack!” Cersei laughed, drink in hand. Any illusion of reserve was quickly dissolving. 

Jaime pulled Cersei closer to lean in further, resting his head on her shoulder. He smiled into her neck, “ _ Mm _ , Baelish would just love that.” 

Petyr rubbed his hand possessively on Sansa’s hip, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his voice, his words deliberate. “Yes, please. Tell us how you’re so decided about  _ my wife’s  _ sexuality.”

Oberyn’s libidinous smile did nothing to answer his question, but instead left it hanging in the air. That was, until it was answered by another.

“Because I’m yours,” Sansa brought her hand up to catch the side of Petyr’s face as she stared at Oberyn. She stroked her fingers over his cheek and elaborated, “ _ Littlefinger _ wouldn’t settle for some frigid prude.” 

“Smart too,” Oberyn winked at her. 

Petyr decided he hated that wink and thought of the various ways he may get away with stabbing him in the eye to avoid ever encountering it again. It was nothing against Oberyn as a person. In fact, he was very fair and reasonable to do business. Petyr also quite liked his company, until the lech caught sight of Sansa, anyway. Suddenly, Oberyn’s playful flirting was more irritating than it was charismatic. In all things, Sansa was where Petyr drew the line. Tyrion’s bored voice interrupted the payback Petyr was concocting, “Oh drat, and I was really looking forward to hearing what Oberyn prizes most in Baelish’s wife.” 

“Me too!” Cersei laughed. 

Jaime chuckled over her shoulder, letting his hand smooth over her belly. “Oh, little brother, we’ve all had enough of your foul mood.” He then turned to the rest of them and sighed, “Tyrion’s in a funk because his girlfriend wouldn’t come.” 

“I didn’t invite her,” Tyrion clarified, visibly bitter. Of course he didn’t invite Shae, she wasn’t one to attend things of this nature. She was quite vocal about how absurd she found social decorum and events like fashion week. Shae had always been so focused on socioeconomic class divides that she was often times the person most strongly upholding them.

There was no doubt by now that Jaime and Cersei knew of Shae’s profession. While Tyrion probably fooled them into thinking she worked for them more exclusively, Petyr was certain they hadn’t exactly made her feel welcome. Who would want a private investigator lurking about? Petyr was honestly surprised that Tyrion and Shae had remained in a relationship of sorts over the past four years--quite long term for Tyrion. If he had to guess, it was long for Shae too. 

He knew better than act ignorant and inquire as to why Tyrion hadn’t invited her, and judging by Sansa’s silence, she did too. Oberyn was new to the party and therefore could get away with more, asking, “You did not desire your lady friend?” 

Tyrion’s lips thinned. “This is not her sort of event.” Petyr took some silent joy in assuming correctly. He so liked to be right, almost as much as he liked feeling the warmth of Sansa’s body under his palm.

“Fashion week is everyone’s sort of event.” Cersei was quick to retort. “Anyone who matters.” 

“Does your woman not matter?” Oberyn gave a befuddled expression. “This can not be true. All women are of consequence.” His eyes shot between Cersei and Sansa, leering as he continued, “They bring life into this world, and without them, there is only death and despair. Loneliness and--”

“Blue balls,” Jaime chuckled, and then gasped and coughed. 

Petyr looked down to see Cersei’s hand squeezing Jaime’s dick through his pants. Sansa snickered at that. Oh, she found that amusing, did she? Petyr gripped the waistband of her thong through her dress, pulling it back before letting it go. He had been trying to be discreet, and her dress was too tight for it to offer the satisfactory snapping effect he’d have truly enjoyed. It did however get the point across and Sansa giggled even more, shifting in his grip. 

In a poor attempt to change the subject, Cersei refocused them to the one before, “You were saying about Sansa?” 

Sansa shot her a glare that Petyr adored, giving her shoulder a peck of a kiss in approval. Oberyn glanced over at him. The man showed no trepidation before, and though this didn’t exactly pass for it either, it was probably as close as he would get. He shrugged noncommittally as he said simply, “It’s the eyes.”

“It’s always the eyes,” Tyrion said, rolling his own. 

“It is.” Oberyn made no attempt to backpedal or deny it and leaned into Sansa, closer than Petyr appreciated and spoke in a loud whisper, “Yours are _ electrifying. _ ”

“Are my eyes electrifying?” Cersei asked Jaime, batting her eyelashes to tease him. 

Jaime kissed her jaw, as if she hadn’t just crushed his cock for everyone to witness, and answered, “Only if you want them to be.” 

“Whipped!” Tyrion coughed into his drink.

“Some people prefer that sort of thing, yes.” Oberyn joked.

Petyr added to the humor, “I have specific girls for that, if you’re interested.” 

Jaime hadn’t been paying attention, kissing Cersei deeply, his fingers digging into her, his other hand sliding up her thigh, taking the hem of her skirt with it. Tyrion and Oberyn laughed at Petyr’s comment, taking a drink. 

Sansa turned away from the Lannisters, giving them the privacy they didn’t seem to care about. “What’s so funny? We actually do.”

Tyrion laughed harder, “I know!” 

Petyr squeezed her close and laughed, “That’s what’s so funny.” 

“Oh,” Sansa smiled. She tried to swat at him but he caught her hand and kissed it. He could tell she was a little buzzed by the pitch to her voice and the dimples that flared on her cheeks as she said, “Stop laughing at me!” 

Sansa had such difficulty trying to breastfeed Elenei that she couldn’t. Where her nipples were too sore for that pregnancy, they hadn’t been anywhere near as sensitive for Durran. As soon as she realized she could breastfeed Durran, she insisted on it. It was quite a lifestyle change for them, and any time Sansa was able to imbibe, he supported it. 

Petyr glanced over at the Lannisters and noticed for the second time, that Cersei’s hand found Jaime’s cock. Though this time, she rubbed over the front of Jaime’s trousers, as if to soothe it from the injury it sustained. Her voice was warm and doting, “You’re so good at the right answer.” 

“You’ve trained him well.” Tyrion bit the inside of his cheek, a laugh escaping.

Petyr noticed that the color in his wife’s cheeks wasn’t exactly fading, neither had her attention wandered from his foreign friend. He followed her gaze to find Oberyn’s eyes alight for her. Feeling the need to break this imposing and inappropriate trance, Petyr leaned on a more crass tactic, asking Oberyn, “Into redheads lately?”

Sansa turned her head quickly, clearly surprised by his question. Oberyn was less surprised by comment, or the clear intentions behind it. He confessed, “It is difficult not to be, when one so beautiful as this is flaunted before my face.”

Sansa laughed, “That’s so good to hear!”

Petyr flicked his over to her, feeling derailed by her words. He held his breath as he waited for her to explain herself.  

“It is?” Cersei asked. 

Sansa turned to her and smiled proudly, “It is.” 

“Whoa, Baelish, looks like your woman’s jumping ship!” Jaime teased. 

Cersei turned and pinched his chest. “Oh, stop. Sansa’s loyal to a fault.” 

“To a fault?” Petyr cocked his head in question. “I’ve never found loyalty to be a shortcoming.” Especially when his wife was saying that she actually wanted Oberyn to like redheaded women. 

Sansa scowled at her friend as she spoke to Petyr, “It’s not, she’s just teasing.” 

Cersei smiled over her glass, “Oh, Little Dove. I can’t believe you didn’t tell him.” 

_ Didn’t tell me what? _ Petyr reminded himself to exhale. 

Reading his expression, Sansa shook her head, dismissively. “It’s nothing.”

She was changing tactics, going from anger to dismissal. People only ever changed their game when they were guilty. The wheels in Petyr’s head spun as he tried to think of what it could possibly be that he didn’t know. What had Sansa been keeping from him? He’d gone through painstaking efforts over the years to know every single thing possible about the woman he cherished. 

“I disagree. He was quite handsome, and it took a lot of courage for him to make a move… You probably missed out on a great time,” Cersei teased. 

_ Make a move _ ?

Petyr felt rage bubble beneath his skin, taking a deep breath and exhaling hotly. He wanted to grip Sansa tighter, demand that she explain, and then when she proved herself too strong for that method, beg her to tell him. Anyone that dared touch his wife was torn down and trampled over. This man would be no different. 

Sansa fought fire with ice, her practiced smile finding its place on her face, cooling her friend. “You’re probably right, Cers. I should trust your assessment of the situation. After all, you pay such close attention to the affections of young men, you’re more the expert.” 

Jaime turned quickly, eyebrows furrowed, looking for a response from Cersei. Petyr was busy trying to mentally retrace Sansa’s steps the past few days. Tyrion waved the catering staff to bring more drinks and Oberyn tucked a wad of cash into a perky blonde’s cleavage. She thanked him and gave him a drink from her tray before she bent down, giving Tyrion his pick of beverage.

Cersei held both her hands up, one filled with her glass, and made a point of looking at them as she said, “I’d clap for you, but my drink is more important.” 

“Isn’t it always?” Sansa quipped. 

Cersei bit her lip and then nodded as she laughed, “It is! It really is! I can’t even deny it.” 

Petyr could care less about Cersei’s idea of humor, wanting to know more about this man with the moves and why his wife gave a damn about Oberyn’s type. As if she could read his mind, Sansa sighed and turned to look at him. She held his cheek with her palm and hovered her face mere inches from his. “A waiter took a liking to me while Cersei and I did lunch. It was nothing.” 

“He gave you his number!” Cersei cackled. 

How bold.

How  _ utterly, fucking _ bold.  

Petyr ground his teeth, wondering who this waiter was that he thought it was even remotely close to acceptable to give Littlefinger’s wife his phone number. Did the wait staff not see the three carat ring he’d decorated her finger with? Did they take no note of the last name on the credit card she paid with? Did they not recognize her very distinct fiery locks instantly, knowing that she was head to the Stark Wolfpack and belonged to no one but Littlefinger alone? 

How goddamned, motherfucking _ brazen.  _

Petyr could feeling himself working up to a rage and fought to keep his expression as pleasant as it had been before, the perfect mask to his emotions. His voice was a bit too smooth, however, as he asked, “A name?” 

Sansa shook her head. “No.” 

“I would like one,” Petyr insisted, keeping his smile in place. Why would she protect this nobody? Surely what they had meant more than some infatuated bus boy. 

“He goes to college. Isn’t from around here.” Sansa stared at him meaningfully. 

Tyrion’s voice sounded in the background, “Don’t mind Baelish, he refuses to share his wife.” 

“Imagine that,” Jaime laughed sarcastically. 

“Pity,” Oberyn decided. 

“It is,” Cersei, of all people, agreed. 

Petyr glanced around Sansa to glare at Cersei. Why would she say that? He watched Jaime smile and say, “Stop. You’re teasing too much.” 

She was. 

Sansa moved her hand down to his chin, turning it to face her again. Her eyes were large black orbs, dilated with whatever she was feeling as she stared back at him. “A boy with a crush, and no knowledge of what tree he’s barking up, doesn’t matter enough to warrant a name.” 

Petyr opened his mouth to disagree, only to be cut off by her lips. She turned in his arms, and met his body full on with hers, so soft, so voluptuous. It wasn’t the lips-to-knees full contact of her that caught his attention, so much as the fervor with which she pursued him. Her tongue didn’t bother to flick across his lips, but instead dove past them, seeking his to massage. He gave it to her willingly, opening his mouth wider to accommodate her surge of passion. His fingers dug into her, as his pelvis rubbed insistently against hers, responding to the sway and twist of their kiss. Her head tilted in the other direction, promising that it was long from over, as her hand traveled up his lapel. He felt her arm wrap around his neck as she tended to his lips, sucking them, accepting his tongue, welcoming it with her own. All the tension in his body melted away, and a tingle of arousal ran through him, settling in his groin.

This was a kiss that lead to something. 

Mindful of the onlookers, Petyr kept his hands on her waist instead of reaching for her ass as he was so desperately want to do. He knew that should his palms cover over those delicious rounds, he would have difficulty stopping himself from lifting her and carrying her to nearest flat surface to better spread her legs to impose himself between. He would feel ashamed of how easily she ignited his fires if it weren’t for his absolute acceptance that seven years together only further perfected her skill with him. 

He barely heard Oberyn comment, “Very nice.”

Petyr opened his eyes to look at him, not stopping his mouth’s movement in time with Sansa’s. Oberyn chuckled, “Your woman is as passionate as I predicted. Are you certain she is not available?” 

Petyr pulled from Sansa enough to scowl at him. 

“You would be welcome, of course,” Oberyn waved his hand between them. “Where your love for her is undeniable, it is acceptable for you to join.” He then grinned devilishly as he added, “To make certain that I am good to her body.” 

Jaime and Cersei made no effort to hide their childish amusement with Oberyn’s impropriety. Even Tyrion smirked, finding the humor too great to pass up. 

It was Sansa’s voice that calmed Petyr, as it so often did. She’d remained in his grip, her body flush against his as she looked over her shoulder. “I find it fortunate that you’ve taken a liking to redheads because Petyr let me pick your girls for you.” 

“Oh?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow. 

It was true, and Petyr was a little ashamed to admit that particular reason hadn't crossed his mind. He and Varys had been choosing girls for Oberyn to call upon while he was in town, when Sansa interjected, stating that she wanted to help. She and Ros had it figured out soon enough, though Petyr was convinced that they may have consulted Varys on more than a few things. Sansa turned in Petyr’s grip, though brought his arms tight around her, keeping hold of him as she answered. “I have picked one out for you.” 

“Just the one?” Tyrion scoffed. 

Oberyn eyed him. 

“I’d apologize, but you have a well-earned reputation.” Tyrion explained.

“This is true,” Oberyn grinned proudly. 

Ros had been keeping with the other girls on the other side of the runway, waiting to be called upon. It was rare for her to leave Unveiled, but Oberyn wasn’t the typical client, and therefore he warranted some special privileges. Petyr raised his hand in the air and gestured for her to come over. Seconds later she had arrived and instantly slid an arm around Oberyn’s waist, flirting, “I like your smile.”

“And I like your legs, they were made to walk on this runway. Tell me, are you a model as well?” Oberyn turned up the charm, even though he didn’t need to. Ros was being paid quite well for this evening.

“Ros!” Tyrion laughed, recognizing her instantly. “I thought Baelish promoted her to hostess years ago?” 

“Everyone’s allowed the opportunity to earn a little extra cash,” Sansa answered quickly. “Besides, it’s important for us to cater to our customers, is it not?” 

Petyr was proud of her business sense and kissed her ear to say so silently. If he were being honest, he was relieved that Ros was the redhead in his foreign friend’s arms. It felt good to see Sansa’s willingness to toss someone else at Oberyn, despite all the flattery and charm he showed her. 

As if Oberyn hadn’t noticed Sansa’s involvement at all, he laughed, “Leave it to Littlefinger to snap his fingers and make a woman appear.” 

“Are you complaining?” Sansa retorted, leaning back against Petyr as he held her. He adored that she wouldn’t allow Oberyn to rely solely on his history with Petyr alone when it came to socializing. Sansa was so fully ingrained in Petyr’s work that she would never go without credit. 

“Just the opposite,” Oberyn laughed. He raised Ros’ hand to his mouth, giving it a kiss. “It is a magic I covet to be able to make such beauties appear so easily.” 

Ros grinned, “I can’t wait for us to see more of each other.”

Cersei set her empty drink down, looking at Sansa as she said, “Bathroom?”

Oberyn looked at Jaime, “Your wife requires someone to chaperone her journey to the bathroom?” 

“It is typical,” Tyrion drawled, obviously bored with the habits of females. 

“Unfortunately,” Jaime sighed. “They tend to move in packs.” 

“Prides,” Cersei corrected and then rubbed her nose against his cheek. 

Petyr bit back a smile. “One must wonder what they do, that requires two or more of them at a time.” 

“I fantasize about that often,” Jaime laughed. 

“Perhaps they are preparing themselves to take us?” Oberyn smiled at Ros. “Many women back home, lick each other just before to ensure that they are slick and ready for their men.” 

Sansa winked at Cersei who then blew her a kiss to tease them. For her part, Ros licked her lips at his words.

An exhausted sigh sounded from below as Tyrion rolled his eyes, “You can always tell when Oberyn’s in town: the conversation always turns to clit-licking.” 

“Would you prefer the conversation turn to cock-sucking?” Cersei laughed. “Sansa, wanna talk technique?”

“Yes, please,” Olyvar teased as he and Varys approached. “I don’t know what we’ve missed, but if the conversation turned to cock-sucking, we’ve come at just the right time.” 

“Stop it,” Varys scolded his lover. 

Olyvar took another swig of his drink, and flirted with him, “That’s not what you say at bedtime.” 

Oberyn smiled, “Varys! It has been too long.” 

Varys leaned into his embrace, allowing Oberyn’s cordial kiss on either side of his face. “It is good to see you in the city.” 

“It is good to be welcome,” Oberyn clasped his shoulder. He turned to Olyvar, “Is this your man-friend?” 

Olyvar joked, “I’m his man, but we aren’t always friends.” 

Varys’ grin was an embarrassed one. Oberyn chuckled, “I like him.” 

“He has his merits,” Varys’s eyes traveled to Olyvar’s hand, reaching in his pocket. 

Olyvar smiled, “What? I was just looking for some candy.” 

“Candy?” Oberyn smiled in disbelief. 

“You already had one,” Varys reminded him. 

Olyvar shook his head, “That was hours ago, when we…” He snickered. 

“Fine,” Varys said as he dolled him a small pill. 

“Oh.  _ Candy _ ,” Oberyn realized. He flashed them a small packet of his own, pressing it into Olyvar’s hand. He looked him in the eye as he said, “One for you, one for your man.” 

Olyvar scoffed, “He wouldn’t. Not tonight, too much going on.” 

Oberyn shrugged, “Then take them both.” 

Varys took the bag from Olyvar. “One is plenty, you remember what happened last time.” 

Olyvar rolled his eyes and said, “I know you refuse to forget it.”

Interrupting the mild squabble, Jaime asked, “What is it?”

Petyr saw his opportunity to support the increased business flow for the city. “The latest and greatest.” 

“You’ve tried it?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered, and then she rose her eyebrows suggestively. “ _ We _ did.” 

Petyr glanced down at the hardened nipples that pushed against the thin material of her dress, remembering that night all too well. Sansa had pumped and dumped her breastmilk for the better part of the next day because of how intoxicated she was from it. For his part, he’d decided that hangovers were a terrible inconvenience in general, but with an energetic four year old and an infant, they were unbearable. Luckily, he was able to foist the kids off on Jon and Ygritte while he and Sansa drank water and slept on each other. 

Oberyn had warned them not to take anything else with it, but Sansa didn’t trust the new drug and insisted they add coke to the mix to make sure they fucked like rabbits. He had never thought it possible to find a woman who’s sex drive was greater than his own, and he thought happily to himself that she would be the death of him someday. 

“Oh, one of those types, is it?” Cersei rubbed Jaime’s chest, eagerly anticipating the effects of the new drug. 

“It is. My Ellaria can’t get enough of it.” Oberyn handed them another baggy. 

Jaime looked it over and then passed it to Tyrion. “It sounds promising. We’ll have it checked out. You understand.” 

“But of course,” Oberyn nodded graciously. 

“What’s it called?” Tyrion asked. 

“Serum.” Oberyn promoted, “It cures whatever ails you.”

Cersei smiled at that, then leaned to whisper in Jaime’s ear. He snickered and then reached in his pocket, handing her what looked like small bunched up, lace lingerie, “You may need these.”

She took them from him, “Only if you’re done with them.” 

Jaime kissed her. “For now.” 

Cersei turned back to Sansa and repeated, “Bathroom, little dove?” 

Sansa rubbed her hand over Petyr’s and smiled, waiting for any indication of whether or not he approved. He kissed her cheek and pinched her hip a little, allowing her departure. He knew that no one  _ allowed _ Sansa anything; she would have left anyway if she wanted. It did please him, though, that she cared enough to want his approval before she did.

Petyr tried to appear unaffected when she and Cersei left. Jaime made no point of hiding every ounce of boredom he felt with his wife no longer present. 

Oberyn lifted his head from Ros’ neck, “Are the women leaving now?”

Ros gripped him tighter and drew his attention back to her. “No, I’m right here, and I don’t plan on leaving your side.” 

Tyrion smiled, “Ros excels at her work.” 

Oberyn took his phone out and asked Petyr, “Do you mind if I photograph your girl?” 

Petyr glanced at Ros, not seeing any reason for her to object, but wanting an indication if she was about to. “Not at all. I assume she’s one you wish to remember?” 

“I want to send it to Ellaria. I want her opinion,” Oberyn explained. “It is no offense to you or Sansa, but my wife is the best at picking my bedmates.”

Ros furrowed her brows, not quite understanding Oberyn at first. He snapped a quick photo and asked Ros, “Do you do couples?”

“Of course, she does! Ros loves munching carpet!” Joffrey interjected, joining them with Myrcella close behind. Petyr had been wondering when the Lannister children would be making an appearance at their mother’s annual event. 

Jaime smiled warmly at his children, then looked confused as he asked, “Where’s your brother?” 

“Tommen is home sick,” Myrcella stepped into Jaime’s open arms, letting him place a fatherly kiss on either cheek. “He had a fever and everything. Where’s Mom?” 

“Ladies with Sansa,” Tyrion answered for him. His tactic of speaking to be noticed worked as she turned and bent to give him a welcome hug. Joffrey did not greet his father or uncle more than a nod of his head, and instead stood beside Petyr to better leer at Ros, the only female in front of him that he wasn’t related to. 

Oberyn glanced up from his phone, smiling as he shared Ellaria’s response. “She approves.” He grabbed more of Ros up in his arms and spoke to Joffrey as he fondled the merchandise. “Who doesn’t find a woman’s essence palatable?”

Joffrey looked impatient, “What?” 

Myrcella laughed at him. Tyrion rolled his eyes, “Ever the slow one.” 

Jaime took pity on his son and spelled it out for him. “You make it sound like Ros eating pussy is gross.” 

“Ew, Dad. Don’t say pussy,” Myrcella winced. 

“If you don’t like it, don’t listen,” Jaime shook his head at her, refusing to change his language.

“It is gross,” Joffrey brought the focus back to himself, looking around as he laughed. “We don’t know where her girlfriend’s been.” 

Working women often chased the money, regardless of if it came from a man or a woman, and became adept at pleasuring either. Ros was one of the few girls that worked for him that admitted to bisexuality in her personal life. Her and her girlfriend were on and off again, however, and it was a sore subject for the hostess. 

Ros bristled momentarily, and Petyr wondered if he’d have to intervene. Instead she was able to pull it together and then turned into Oberyn further. She spoke in a sultry voice, “I fuck people, not their genders.” She let her hand slide down Oberyn’s chest, to his abs. “One look at you and I know I’d prefer to fuck  _ you _ .” She leaned in and kissed his earlobe as she whispered loud enough to be heard, “And I’ve had many looks at you.”

Her flirtation was not anywhere near as smooth or practiced as Oberyn’s was, but it was doing the trick and Petyr couldn’t be more proud of his employee. If Sansa were there, she’d flash her an approving smile. In her absence, Varys caught his eye, showing he understood completely. Oberyn let his fingers twirl in Ros’ hair as he accepted her kisses. “It appears as though we have something in common,” he brought her hand to his lips. “Since we both enjoy the taste of a woman, shall we get one to share tonight?” 

Ros nodded vigorously, giving an excited giggle.  _ That a girl _ , Petyr sighed happily to himself. Joffrey scowled, unable to shame her. Petyr would wonder why he would even want to in the first place, but Joffrey wasn’t difficult to read. He took pleasure in making people upset and whatever fallout resulted from it. For her part, Myrcella looked disgusted with her brother. 

Varys brought the conversation back to business. “Where it’s the first night of fashion week, we’ve only packed ten percent of the models tonight but there’s obviously more to come.” He turned to Tyrion as he asked, “I trust you’ve matched us?” 

Joffrey scoffed into his drink. “We always outdo you.” 

“ _ Jaime? _ ” Petyr snapped his head towards him. That was not the deal. It was ten percent from both of them on the first night, not ten percent from the Baelishes and more than that from the Lannisters. A higher percentage meant more profit, and this was meant to be equal profits. That was how the city ran, agreements. Sure, the Baelishes always had the most money because their establishments were more profitable in general, and everyday people moved to their part of the city more and more, only further strengthening them. That was not the point. All dealings between the two families were discussed and carried out with as much integrity as either of them could muster. It is how four years had passed as smoothly as they had run by criminal minds. “What’s your son talking about?”

Oberyn looked between the two of them, the golden-haired Lannister with a smile turned sneer, and the genial Baelish turned cold calculating Littlefinger. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?” 

“I don’t know what my little shit of a son is saying,” Jaime all but growled. Joffrey visibly reduced in size beside Petyr. “Tyrion?” 

“Neither do I. I can assure you only ten percent of our models have  _ runway legs _ tonight.” Tyrion took a step forward, placing himself in their peripheral vision. Both men glanced down at the movement. “We are  _ matched _ . Kevan’s making the delivery himself with your man, Baelish.”

Petyr glanced at Varys to verify. The bald man nodded, confirming that everything was in place on their end and that the truck was enroute.

Jaime wasted no time striding past his brother to grip his son’s collar and order through clenched teeth, “ _ Explain. _ ”

Joffrey said nothing, trying to protect his image. Petyr knew that even though Jaime was almost twenty years older than his son, should the two be pitted against one another, Joffrey didn’t stand a chance. Petyr hid a smile as he considered that he might even pay money to see that.

A gentle voice interrupted the intensity of the father-son moment. “Joffrey was just being elitist again, Dad. Thinking he’s better than everyone else.” Myrcella’s hand rested on Jaime’s shoulder blade, taking his attention through physical contact. 

“Kids say the darndest things!” Tyrion laughed, trying desperately to lower the obvious tension in the room. 

Oberyn ran with it. “They do! My Obara’s so cocky, one would think she had one of her own!”

Ros giggled on cue and Jaime eased back, chuckling. As predicted, Joffrey appeared the only one refusing to relax. Sansa’s rain scented lotion permeated around Petyr and suddenly she was on his arm again. Her voice was light and warm as she said, “I just checked on the kids, Elenei conned Ygritte into three bedtime stories.” 

“Conned? How?” Petyr turned his head, allowing the subject of Joffrey’s stupidity to drop. He was also too interested in his daughter’s methods to take much note of Cersei returning to Jaime, inquiring as to Tommen.

Sansa smiled proudly as she said, “She told them that you insist on three stories because three is a prime number and is ‘magic’ for counting, which she’s working on in preschool.” 

“She tied it into her studies?” Petyr chuckled, instantly distracted by the love he felt for his little raven-haired princess with eyes he was regularly captivated by.

Sansa nodded, “I know! And she remembered what you said about prime numbers!”

Oberyn’s eyes left Ros to look Sansa up and down, filling with interest again. “I forget that your children are still so young.” 

“Doesn’t she look great for having just had a baby?” Cersei asked, settling back into place at Jaime’s side. 

“Nine months ago, Cersei.” Sansa crossed her arms. “I just look great for looking great.” 

Cersei laughed and raised her glass, “Cheers.”

“Indeed you do” Oberyn smirked, allowing his gaze to fall on Sansa’s chest. Petyr inhaled, silently counting to three. Perhaps Elenei was right, the number three had magical properties, because it managed to contain Petyr’s irritation. All in all, Petyr was quite impressed with himself for being so controlled with his jealousy. He and Sansa had come a long way in seven years of marriage, and while he was still upset by any man--drug lord or wait staff, eyeing her, he managed to only act against those who dared to cross the line from looking to touching.

Unaware of Petyr’s internal self-reflection, Oberyn turned to look at Cersei as he spoke, “Her beauty is undeniable. Motherhood agrees with her. Much like it did my  _ sister _ .”

Myrcella took a step forward, and reached for his hand. “I am so sorry for your loss.” 

The Martell smiled at her, allowing her to offer a comfort he would not feel. Petyr could see it in his eyes, a wound so old and festered, would not heal at the touch of a young woman so far removed. His eyes softened as he said, “Her children would be about your age, had they lived.” 

Petyr glanced at Sansa, looking for any reaction. He hadn’t told her about the children because he knew it would upset her. In all the time he’d known her, the only thing she’d ever done that she truly regretted to that very day was allowing Dany’s baby be executed along with her. Children were where Sansa drew the line. He was grateful to see that she remained still, seemingly unaffected. 

The Lannisters remained quiet, displaying a distinct lack of sorrow for him and zero guilt over their actions. Petyr knew that Sansa would feel disappointed in her friend for that. He hated it when she was let down, but he did appreciate that it was at the very least, a good reminder that Cersei was not a true friend. Extending sympathy in place of her parents, Myrcella shook her head, “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve gone through.” 

Following their daughter’s example, Jaime spoke with a sincerity Petyr was impressed by. “To lose a child is the greatest loss a person can face.” Cersei stood in her husband’s arms, her expression solemn, respectful. Petyr almost didn’t think she had it in her to recognize something so serious, something so painfully important. 

Oberyn nodded, never taking his eyes off them. “Agreed.” He then let go of Myrcella and turned to Sansa, “I apologize, you are maybe unaware? Many years ago, someone murdered my sister and her two little children because my family would not bend on their terms for trade.” 

Petyr held Sansa tighter and gave Oberyn a sympathetic look. It was the same one he gave him each time the subject came up. It was to remind him that the Baelishes were free of any blame. At the time Oberyn’s sister Elia was murdered, the ruling families were the Lannisters, Tyrells, Cleganes, and Arryns. 

“It was an ugly time, then. But, as it is, so many of the old families have gone. My Ellaria and I feel it is time to move on,” Oberyn explained, his eyes moving between Sansa and the Lannisters. 

Where the rest of the party knew the importance of allowing Oberyn to lead the conversation out of his loss and onto something else, something more promising, Joffrey missed that memo. He shrugged with a smug smirk, “Don’t feel too bad Oberyn, Sansa understands. Her family was offed for not listening too.” He took a drink off a passing tray, “Lucky for her, she just made another family to replace them.”

All eyes whipped to Joffrey. Jaime’s seething was audible, as was Myrcella’s gasp. The room melted around him as Petyr stared at Sansa, trying to assess the damage sustained from such a harsh blow. She was silent for a second, and he knew it was because the air had left her lungs. His queen showed no crack in her facade. When she was able to speak to Joffrey, she did so in a voice so cool it bit with its frost. “It’s comforting to know how  _ replaceable _ you could be to your family.”

“Though perhaps not comforting to you,” Oberyn added, his voice liquid lead as he looked at Joffrey. 

There was a silence that prickled everyone’s fine hair. All parties sized up the other. Petyr glanced at Varys, who casually handed his drink to Olyvar, who had his back turned to them watching the models, completely oblivious to what was going on. Varys touched his hand to his pocket, assuring Petyr that he was prepared for whatever may come.

Jaime wrapped his arm around Myrcella, drawing her close to him as he forced a laugh at Joffrey. “Don’t play with the big dogs if you haven’t got a big bone.” 

“Joffrey’s just had a bit too much to drink.” Cersei tried to minimize his behavior, and then glared at him as she said, “Haven’t you?” 

Myrcella gave Jaime a kiss on the cheek, “I’ll handle it.” She left his side, going to her older brother. “Come on, Joff. Let’s go.” 

“Fuck you!” Joffrey retched his arm free. 

“Yes, yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes as he turned. She made the drinking sign with her hand behind his back. “Let’s get you home and in bed.” 

He stomped away. “I’m a grown man!” 

“I know,” she answered in a pouty voice, and then giggled a little. She snapped her fingers and gestured for one of their crew to follow him. “I guess he didn’t want my assistance,” she shrugged with a sarcastic smile.

“I apologize for my nephew.” Tyrion’s eyebrow wrinkled in consternation as he looked at Sansa. 

Petyr watched her smile back, and appreciated that she accepted his sentiment so easily, especially considering the hard feelings he knew she was struggling with. He kissed her shoulder to remind her that he was there. Her hand came up and pet his goatee again as she rested her head against his, silently thanking him for it. 

Cersei’s voice broke them from their silent moment. “Yes, Joffrey’s always been a spirited boy. And it is because of that, that he does not speak for us. We are sorry for your losses.” She looked between Sansa and Oberyn, her expression so readable. The Lannisters were practically begging to leave the past behind. Even Myrcella gave a look of hope. Did she know what her parents had done? If any of the Lannister children did, it would be Myrcella. It would be her to take over their business some day, not Joffrey with a big mouth or little Tommen with a weak stomach. Petyr gave Sansa a squeeze, pleased all over again that she chose Myrcella to play the role of godmother to Elenei. 

Before anyone could say anything else, Jaime groaned, “Oh, what the fuck is Stannis doing here?” Petyr watched the salt and peppered close-cropped head bob and weave through the crowd, Melisandre close behind, like the loyal mutt she was. 

“Who’s this Stannis?” Oberyn asked, confused. 

“Baratheon. Robert’s older brother,” Petyr answered, knowing that if Oberyn thought about it long enough, he’d connect the dots. It had been a while since Oberyn was in the city, but Jaime and Cersei’s union was legendary.

“Speak of the devil,” Jaime sneered as he approached. 

Cersei laughed, “Come by looking for fashion advice? Time to upgrade your suit from the Men’s Warehouse?” 

Petyr looked him over, he was slightly out of breath and there was an intensity in his eyes, his lips pursed tight. Something was wrong and there was no time to laugh at the Lannister’s barb. Sansa’s smile was subdued as she rubbed her hand over Petyr’s back. She noticed too. 

Stannis’ voice was urgent as he declared, “Your shipment is bust!” 

“ _ Bust? _ ” Varys and Tyrion asked in unison. 

“It’s bust!” Stannis exclaimed. “I’ve got some men down there keeping first responders out of the back of the truck, focusing on your men instead. You’ve got to get your people down there to clean up your shit!” 

“First responders?” Petyr asked, feeling his face heat. 

Melisandre stepped forward, “Your truck  _ wrecked _ . Your drivers are fucked.” 

“Shit,” Jaime hung his head. “Kevan.” 

Myrcella started sobbing instantly. Petyr felt his stomach drop as he looked up at Varys, his eyes wide, validating his feeling of despair. 

“You’ve got to move your shit, now!” Stannis spit through clenched teeth. 

Oberyn offered his aid. “I have some men with me, I can send them to assist.” 

“Thank you, that would be appreciated.” Tyrion answered for Jaime, still visibly coping with whatever injury his beloved cousin had sustained. “Whatever you pick up is yours for thirty-five percent under value.” 

Oberyn nodded and pulled his phone out. He was the mirror image of Varys and Tyrion, calling on behalf of the families. Petyr took a breath rallying his strength. “Any survivors?” His voice almost broke, unable to look at Sansa as he asked it. 

“One, critical. The other…” Stannis shook his head, letting his words trail off. 

Myrcella’s wailing got louder and Cersei wrapped her arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “Now, now, sweet girl. Kevan is strong, we don’t know that it was him. And even if it was, he would want to join Lancel, wouldn’t he?” 

Petyr took some odd comfort in Cersei’s motherly words of wisdom. Kevan would want to be reunited with Lancel. Of course it was Kevan that died. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t…

“Hey,” Sansa’s voice was soft and warm. “Are you alright?” 

He lifted his head and looked into the beautiful blue eyes that stared back at him. They were so pure, right then. Her eyebrows lifted and she gave him a smile that was just for him as she said, “It’s okay, Petyr. We can lose one shipment.” 

There was so much love in this woman, that gave so much of herself to him. She didn’t know any better. His eyes shut, her care for him overwhelming. Myrcella’s voice filled his ears, “I’m so sorry, Mom.” 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Cersei cooed. 

Petyr glanced over at the Lannisters. Jaime looked down at Myrcella so anguished. Cersei looked at Jaime, taking note of just how affected their only daughter was. Petyr felt Sansa’s hand land on his arm, trying to pull him back to her as he watched Jaime wrap himself around Myrcella and Cersei in a family hug. His voice was soothing as he assured her, “It’s alright. Myrcella, whatever it is, it’s alright.” 

Myrcella’s sobs sounded loudly in Petyr’s ears. “No! It’s not! It’s  _ Tommen! _ ” 

“Tommen?” Jaime asked, clearly wondering what his youngest sick at home had to do with anything. 

“What about Tommen, sweet girl?” Cersei brushed the hair from her face. 

Myrcella voice was thick with a level of grief Petyr felt in his own throat as he thought of Sansa holding onto him. “He ran the shipment!” 

“What?” Tyrion looked up from his phone. 

Myrcella explained through heaving sobs, “He wanted to prove himself.” 

Petyr opened his eyes to watch Jaime grab his daughter, “Where’s Kevan?”

“Hung over. I sent him home.” Myrcella confessed. 

Petyr glanced at Sansa. She was turned, giving the Lannister revelation her whole attention. He could see the worry playing across her face for Cersei. Sympathy from one mother to another.

“No,” Tyrion shook his head. “No. I watched Kevan get into the truck myself. Before Baelish’s man got there.” 

Myrcella nodded her head, wiping tears from her cheeks. “You did. I’m so sorry, Uncle. After you left, I sent him home. I was going to have Joffrey drive, just to make sure we held up our end, but  _ Tommen _ \--” She broke off in another cry, her cheeks red as she hyperventilated. 

Cersei rubbed her back in rough circles, her voice gruff, “ _ Breathe! _ ” 

Petyr watched Sansa’s brows lift and her hand come to her mouth, a sliver of a shake to her. He cringed at her empathetic response. If she only knew. 

Myrcella lifted her head, crocodile tears watered her chest, her look to Cersei pleading. “He  _ begged me _ , Mom.” 

Cersei stared back at her and shook her head, slowly realizing. “No. You didn’t.” 

The confession poured out of her, “He told me he was tired of people thinking he couldn’t help with the business.” She shook in Cersei’s arms. “I shouldn’t have let him.” 

“ _ FUCK! _ ” Jaime roared and threw his drink.

“Stop!” Cersei let go of Myrcella to turn and smack his chest. “Get the car! He’s not dead. He’s in the hospital.” 

Jaime stood stunned, staring into his wife’s eyes. “ _ Cers..” _

Myrcella sank to the floor, unable to function. Tyrion wrapped his arms around her as far as they would reach, whispering consolation into her hair. Cersei shook her head, “He’s not dead, Jaime. Do you hear me?”

He spoke through clenched teeth, “She’s not lying.” 

“It’s a mistake. Get the car.” Her face was tight, determined, unwilling to crack. 

Jaime shook with a visible need to break more than his glass. 

Petyr felt a tremble run through him. If this was how the Lannisters responded, how would Sansa? 

Cersei grabbed her husband’s collar, mimicking the way he had grabbed Joffrey’s before. She pulled him close, snarling, cutting through to him with the jagged edge of her voice. “My baby boy is NOT.  _ FUCKING _ . DEAD!”

Everything in the room stilled. Models, designers, waiters, patrons, all alike, quieted and zeroed in on them. The silence was punctuated by the sound of the Lannister’s heavy breathing as their chests heaved. Jaime kept his eye on his wife as he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. “Bring the car around.”

Sansa made to go for Cersei when Petyr stopped her. “Petyr?” 

He took a deep breath. “We need to go to the hospital.” 

“Yes, I know. We should be there for them,” Sansa agreed quickly. 

“No. Not for them.” He felt a sick sweat form as he started to find the courage to tell her.

“What?” She scrunched her face at him, not understanding. 

Already anticipating Petyr’s next move, Varys had called the car and he and Olyvar helped usher them to the door. Varys knew Petyr’s trespass. The entire time Sansa kept turned to him, “What’s going on?” 

He’d opened the door for her, feeling the lump in his throat grow as he repeated over in his mind,  _ One’s dead and one’s critical.  _ Sansa stood stock-still, refusing to get in the car. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.” 

He looked her in the eye for only a second before he felt the sting of it, looking down to their feet as he admitted in a whisper, “ _ Bran _ .”

She was horror-stricken, almost unaware of her own body as she sunk back into the car. He got in beside her and reached for her hand. Who knew if Bran would be there, or if he would be the one that didn’t make it to the hospital. Petyr didn’t know how to explain, where to begin, how to make her see that he’d only meant for the best. 

Petyr watched her chest rise and fall with anxiety, and could feel her mind racing a mile a minute to put the pieces together, taking them in the different directions they would lead toward various outcomes, all varying degrees of awful. The way she stared ahead and barely looked at him told him that her mind had recognized the treachery on some level, as well. 

He cursed himself for going against her. He thought he was making the right decision, helping a young man provide for a family. Bran had come a long way and Petyr wanted to support that growth in him. He’d always had a bit of a soft spot for that particular Stark. Perhaps it was because of how much he reminded him of some of the people he’d considered friends growing up, before he realized that he couldn’t have friends if he meant to survive. 

It was one job. He’d already offered it before Sansa weighed in on it. Just drive from point A to point B. It was going to be quick and simple and she’d never need to know. He’d not give him any other work, just what he’d already given. She was clear. No work for Bran. He agreed, even when he didn’t. 

When they pulled up the hospital, Arya was already there, leaving her motorcycle at the front door. Petyr was surprised to see she was still riding. She had to be at least six months along in her pregnancy, expecting a boy. No doctor would approve of her riding a motorcycle. Did Gendry know she was still riding? Did Bronn?

Petyr shook the thoughts from his mind. This was good. 

If Arya had been called, that meant Bran was in the hospital, not a morgue. 

It was Tommen that was dead, not Bran. 

For now, anyway.

A security guard’s voice told her she couldn’t leave her bike there. She tossed the keys at him and screamed, “ _ Then fucking move it! _ ”

While she was too big to out right run, she took quick steps that verged on a jog towards the door a few steps before she saw Petyr and Sansa and turned to them. Petyr held the door open for them as Arya asked, “Do you know what happened?” 

Sansa glanced at Petyr, her eyes narrowed as she answered, “No. _ I  _ don’t.”

He felt the slap of her emphasis. 

Arya ran ahead to the main desk, gripping her belly as she asked where Bran was. 

Critical Care Unit.

One visitor at a time. Heart monitors, defibrillators, oxygen tubes. All the wires and cords plugged between bodies and walls, working to pump the life into a person faster than it escaped them. His mind flashed to Sansa clammy and white as a ghost, blood pouring out of her as she whimpered in pain and their son’s heart slowed.

No. 

He couldn’t think of that. Not when she needed him to be strong. 

Petyr barely remembered the walk--more of a run, to the CCU. Meera was already there, standing just outside the clear sliding glass door as the nurses tended to him. She stood with her arms crossed, looking a million miles away. Petyr wondered if it was her professional detachment kicking in, having seen many people in this particular circumstance. Arya took no heed of her presence, running to be first through the door.

She rushed to the side of Bran’s bed, holding onto whatever part of him the nurses would allow her to. Meera remained unmoving as she stared at them through the reflection on the glass. Sansa slowly approached, reading the sign stating what they already knew: one visitor at a time. Meera’s voice was hollow as she asked, “Why was he driving a truck?” 

Sansa looked at him. 

Petyr didn’t respond. 

Meera turned around, her voice rising, “Why was he riding with a Lannister?” 

Petyr held his tongue, feeling the hatred roll off her. Her fists bawled at her sides as she scowled at him. He reminded himself that she was the mother of Bran’s child. 

He glanced over at the mother of his own children. Sansa’s jaw tightened, her body held rigid, hardening towards him. She glared at him as she asked Meera, “What have the doctor’s said?” 

“Coma,” she said as matter of fact. Then losing some of her composure, she let go of the hold she had on herself and swung her arms out, her words so final. “Paralyzed!  _ For life. _ ” 

Petyr swallowed, drowning in the reality of it. He reached for Sansa, feeling his heart fall as she avoided his grasp. There was an edge to her controlled voice, “Go home, Petyr.” 

The sliding glass door opened and Arya stepped out, tears streaking down her cheeks. Her voice sounded so small and weak as she said, “Sans...he’s really fucked up.”

Sansa hugged her briefly and then went for the door. Petyr caught her arm, “Sansa--”

“ _ Leave _ ,” her voice dripped with venom. 

_ “No _ ,” He gripped her tighter, feeling her slip away. 

Sansa whirled around and slapped his cheek with much more force than he thought she was capable of. Though he kept his face set, his cheeks burned at the sting and he knew it would leave a mark. Her eyes held a brutality he hadn’t seen before, not when she killed someone, not when she threatened to leave him over the Tyrell whore. This was a new dimension to her that he’d never encountered before, so sharp and punishing. Her lip curled in disgust as she said, “I can’t look at you.” She closed her eyes, as she spat out, “Get out of my sight.” 

His heart sank, and the lump in his throat grew. 

Arya’s eyebrows furrowed, pulling herself out of her own grief to notice the domestic dispute in front of her. “Take your hands off her, now.”

Petyr looked between Arya and his wife. “Arya, you don’t understand.” 

“I heard she wants you to let her go,” Arya met him square on, her rounded belly between them. “I don’t need to understand anything else.”

He hunched his shoulders, silently begging her to back away. He looked around her to Sansa, now at the door. “Sansa, you don’t really want me to go. Not really.”

She turned her head, eyes closed to him still, as a single tear dripped from her jaw. She repeated his own words back to him, “When have _ I  _ ever lied to  _ you _ ?”

Petyr felt the weight of her words crush him, barely hearing her repeat, “Leave, now,” before walking through the sliding glass door to Bran’s bedside. 

He glanced down at Arya, her face filled with as much curiosity as it did determination. She took a breath before saying, “My brother is on death’s door, and my sister doesn’t want you here for some reason.” She shook her head before she set one hand on his chest, providing minimal resistance. “Since you’re usually who she wants around for things like this, I can only assume you fucked up somehow.” 

Meera scoffed, pacing the waiting room. 

Arya glanced her way quickly, taking in her reaction. She looked him in the eye so he could see the sincerity in hers as she pushed on his chest. “I think you should leave, Petyr.”

“Everything okay?” Gendry got off the elevator and moved behind Arya, supporting her. 

Petyr took a step back, alternating his gaze between the glass door that showed the river of red that fell down Sansa’s back as she sat by Bran, and the intensity in Arya’s eyes staring him down. She nodded, “Yes. Petyr was just leaving.” 

He wanted to growl back that the fuck he was. He wanted to fight to stay put. To tell her that he was Littlefinger and no one kept him from his wife, not a sliding glass door, or a little sister. No matter how sinewy or pregnant she was. A glance at all the equipment lining Bran’s bedside told him to retreat. For now. 

“Oh, for the kids?” Gendry asked, aloof. 

“Yes,” Petyr cleared his throat, and turned quickly. 

His steps were heavy as he made for the elevator. Gendry’s voice was deep behind him, “See ya later!” He hit the button repeatedly as he heard him ask, “What? What did I say?” 

The doors closed and Petyr stared at himself in the stainless steel. His fist clenched as he asked himself how he could let this happen.  

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a bit of delay for chapter 4, but that's only because I really really wanna take part in PB week this week -- so after that's over I'll sit down to start writing chapter 4 :-)


	4. Denial: A House Divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t do this, please.” Varys’ own voice caught, “He won’t cope without you.”

The decision to separate herself from Petyr felt unconscious, as if one side of her heart hadn’t bothered to consult the other, and both parties left her head out of if completely. When Sansa stood on the steps of the hospital, clutching her bag, the sun beating down on her, it was as if pulling her away from her life was the _only_ way . The overwhelming need to be free of it just took over without her consent.

She allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of the sunshine that a million other people felt. She listened to the busy sounds of the front entrance, sounds that anyone else could have heard, be them a millionaire or a vagrant. She watched the faces of the people coming and going. The worried looks worn for hurt loved ones, and the joyful ones of the people carrying stuffed animals to give for babies born and family recovered. How easy it would be to live as any one of these people. How easy it would be to toss her ring and her wallet in one of the many trashcans that appeared on the way to the hospital parking garage. To be someone else, someone not Sansa Baelish. That name came with responsibility and pain.  

Her momentary fantasy of such freedom was interrupted when the valet pulled her car around, “Your keys, _Mrs. Baelish_.”

Never before had the name burned her so, left her shuddering at the association. “Sansa, please.”

He looked at her funny, as if trying to determine something. She grabbed the keys and slid into the car. His curiosity didn’t matter to her. Who was he? Nobody, just a person she’d been fantasizing about hiding out as. She pulled out of the hospital parking lot and started towards home, the images of her children coming into focus as thoughts of them returned to her.

A pang of guilt hit her that she actually fantasized about being free from her life. They were a major part of it and a life without them was no freedom, but instead a hell. She loved them with all her heart and would be devastated to lose them. _Fuck, fuck, fuck Sansa. Get your head on!_

This self-inflicted upbraiding could have been from her nerves or sleep deprivation. She wasn’t hungover, hadn’t had enough to drink to cause that effect so many hours later, and she hadn’t gotten far enough into the opening night of fashion week to take any drugs either. Petyr had told her that he wanted to wait until closer to the end of the show so they could make it to the car, rather than ravishing each other in a public restroom for the nine hundredth time.

She felt herself gag a little at the thought of his hands running over her body, lifting her skirt, licking her with the mouth he used to lie to her. Betrayal was so foreign to their relationship, he suddenly felt like a stranger to her.

The thought of going home--of going home to _him_ , made her itchy. She pictured herself collapsing in bed from exhaustion, and him climbing in next to her, kissing her fingers and pouting his apologies. It was disgusting and she couldn’t stomach it. Bran was on the brink of death, and paralyzed for life. The last thing she cared about was Petyr Baelish’s sorries, and it was selfish of him to even attempt to give them.

Screw his apologies, and his need to touch her in order to make himself feel better. She’d given all of herself over to worry for her brother all night, and simply had nothing left to give. Especially not to the man responsible.

She sent him home, but he took every opportunity to remind her of his presence. He had her car driven over to her at the hospital, with a message that read, _So you can come home to me when you’re ready._

The presumption in the message made her blood boil. _Come home to me._ She hated that he assumed that she would come home to him specifically. The liar. If she came home at all it would be for her children. Not him.

When her breasts grew heavy with a need to feed Durran, Petyr had her breast pump delivered. It was as if he knew when she would need it. She hated that. Hated that he knew so much about her when all she wanted was to pull deep within herself, scrub herself clean from the deceit. As she stared down at Bran’s motionless body, she seethed. Petyr had no right to know anything about her. Not anymore. She wished she could rip every detail about herself from his brain.

Flowers were sent to Bran’s room in the morning, the attached card read, _We’re all pulling for you, P._

She ripped it up into a thousand pieces and threw it in the trash, the flowers too. Arya raised her brow at her, “Sans?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Sansa growled at the innocent bystander.

Meera gave a derisive snort, and Sansa knew she would have to address it. The girl was bright, and could easily discern what happened. Sansa considered trying to corner her alone, but saw no threat in the present company, so she turned on her. “Will you tell Howland?”

Jon and Ygritte had arrived earlier, once Petyr got home and relieved them of babysitting duty. Ygritte and Gendry, both not as embroiled in the politics of the city, were aloof to the conversation. Arya, however, lifted her head, giving her full attention. She was no fool, and though she’d been out of commission with the pregnancy, Bronn had no doubt taught her some important names. In regards to Jon, he may have stopped guarding Sansa officially, but that didn’t mean he stopped being her confidant. He was well aware of what Sansa was asking, and his head turned in curiosity.

Meera snorted again, “I should.” She brought her hand to her belly, still flat in the early stages of her pregnancy. “You broke the pact.”

Sansa remained silent, fighting the urge to correct her perception. She was hanging on the word, _should._

“He broke it too, though.” Meera looked over at Bran, a tear rolling down her cheek. “He gave me his word, and he broke it.” Her words were faint as she answered, “No, I’m not going to tell Dad.” She swallowed audibly, “And, as soon as Bran wakes up, I’m leaving his sorry ass.”

“Meera--” Arya appealed to her.

“Do you hear me?” Meera leaned down to Bran, her jaw tight as she swore to him. “As soon as you wake up, and prove to me that you’re okay, I’m gone.” She sniffed away a rogue tear. “I’m going to tell you just how seriously you fucked up with me, give you a real _ear-full_. And then me and the baby are walking away, you lying son of a bitch!”

Arya rose from her seat, and wrapped her arms around her. Sansa listened to her coo into her ear, soothing her, “Come on now, you don’t mean that.”

Meera sobbed, “No, I don’t.” Then she shook her head. “Yes, I do. But not really. Oh, god! Wake up Bran.”

The lump in Sansa’s throat grew as she watched the woman pregnant with her brother’s child spin in circles tearing herself apart. That was something Sansa could definitely relate to. Too well. She swallowed the lump down and decided not to push it any further. She learned what she needed to know, Meera was going to keep her mouth shut.

As Sansa pulled into the driveway, she stared at the open garage door, and all of Petyr’s beautiful cars. She wanted to ram into each and every one of them. That would show him. What exactly, she didn’t know. She wanted him to pay, to suffer some pain, even if it was just the bill at the body shop.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Robb, _Talisa and I got a flight for this evening. We’re on our way._

Rickon would be arriving at the hospital at any moment, his flight having taken off a few hours earlier. The Stark Wolf Pack was coming together to stand bedside to their most troubled pup. Sansa grit her teeth as she put the car in park. He was the most vulnerable, and Petyr took advantage of that. If he really loved her, he would have helped to protect her family, not thrust them in harm’s way.

Her phone rang, and Petyr’s icon popped up on her screen. She hovered her thumb over it, about to ignore it when she slid it over to answer instead. As she brought the phone to her ear, she wondered if her body was enacting some auto-piloted response. She had always answered him before. For seven years, her thumb swiped to accept.

“It’s good to see you home,” he purred through the earpiece. She hated how smug he sounded, how certain her was about her actions. She glanced up at the camera in their garage and cursed silently in her head. She knew that there were some cameras in their home too, just a couple in some innocuous places focused on the children.

“Mm,” she responded shortly. She disliked the idea that he could see her, her mannerisms, her expressions. Being away from him meant she was supposed to be spared his pleasure with her.

“The kids asked about you last night, and I told them that Bran had an accident and you were watching over him in the hospital. They’ll be happy to have their Mum back.” There was no mistaking the meaning in his words. He wanted her to stay put. Too bad for him that pretending nothing was wrong would not make it so.

She unclenched her jaw enough to say, “I did miss _the kids_.”  

There was a moment of silence before he continued as if he didn’t catch the connotation, which she knew well that he had. “I will be home shortly. Just tying up some loose ends at the office. I can’t wait to see you.”

She ended the call, determined not to give him anything else, and walked for the door. She had barely gotten it open before Elenei jumped on her, “Mum!”

“Hey sweetheart!” Sansa smiled, blinking back tears. What Sansa hadn’t expected upon her arrival home, was to be so emotional seeing her daughter after only being away for a day.

Her big blue eyes stared back at her as her grin announced, “Uncle Olly’s making lunch now! _Grill cheese_!”

Varys rounded the corner on her, his eyes wide, “Sansa, I’m so--”

She held her hand up to stop him. “I don’t want to hear it, Varys.” She burrowed her face in the crook of Elenei’s neck, revelling the feel of her little arms wrapped tightly around her.

His face fell and he stepped aside, allowing her to pass. She was part of the way down the hall before he called out, “I don’t care. I am sorry. I want you to know it.”

She gave Elenei’s cheek a kiss and lowered her until her little feet touched the floor. She whispered in her ear, “Go get your lunch. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Elenei nodded with a happy smile on her face and turned to skip off towards the kitchen. Sansa whirled around to glare at Varys. “What are you sorry for? That you helped my husband betray me? Surely, you knew I was against this. Did you bother to advise him against this? Or did you go along with it, salivating at the chance to please him with your work, since you can’t your tongue?”

Panic played across his face and his hands came up nervously. “Sansa, please.” He laid his palms down flat, pushing towards the floor. “Lower your voice, please. Olyvar…”

She chuckled, though she didn’t find it funny. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you’ve _moved on_ , haven’t you?”

He blinked back at her, his face setting. “You’re upset. That’s understandable.”

“Is it? Oh good, I’m glad. It’s so important to me that you of all people excuse my behavior.” If she could punch something, she would.

She could hear the squeak and squeal of little Durran, and the crash and bang of the big plastic walker he cruised around in. “Hey little man!”

Drool dripped from the grin that lit up his face. His arms stretched out towards her as his feet pushed one in front of the other, propelling him and the contraption in her direction. She lifted him out of his seat and snuggled him close, smelling his unique scent as she ran her fingers over his soft downy curls. He smiled into her neck and shook his head back and forth in excitement, his legs kicking.

Sansa stood, blocking Varys, and not caring one bit as she peppered kisses over Durran’s head and cheek. His little hand reached down and started to tug and pull at her breast while he tried to latch onto her neck, his movements jerky but determined. She smiled and pulled the shoulder strap from her dress down, and her breast from the sexy demi-cup bra she had worn for Petyr to take off.

Varys made a slight noise to remind her that he was there.

“It’s a tit, Varys. You of all people, should be the least affected by it,” Sansa rolled her eyes as she let Durran find his way to food, and felt a pinch before a tingle at his latch. She smiled down at him, proud to be able to do this for him. Sansa traced her finger over his hairline and he smiled, milk pouring out either side of his grin.

“Petyr’s meeting with Stannis.” Varys voice was soft, as if he didn’t want to impose on her mother-son moment. “He’s paying to keep the first responders quiet.”

“And why would he do that?” Sansa asked, smiling down at her son.

Varys shifted on his feet. “It was Bran that was driving.”

“And?”

“Tommen is dead,” Varys stated as if it were obvious. It probably should have been.

She watched Durran’s little mouth suckle her feircely as she let Varys words turn over in her head. _Cersei_. Sansa was holding her son in her arms and Cersei couldn’t. That realization smacked her hard and tears filled her eyes, her voice hoarse as she asked, “Do they think it was us?”

“Petyr is paying Stannis off so the first responders will report that it was Tommen in the driver’s seat.”

Sansa looked up at him, blinking furiously, willing her eyes to dry. “Was it us?” She couldn’t trust that it wasn’t. Petyr moved without her, what else had he decided without her? How deep did his treachery go? He knew that she was fond of Cersei, what was to say he didn’t make a business decision, without her to save her the difficulty of having to choose between business and friendship? It was insulting to think he didn’t realize her ability to shut her feelings down for Cersei when the time called for it. Cersei was business. Bran was blood.

“No,” Varys was quick to reply. Then he shook his head, looking almost as troubled as she felt as he added, “I don’t know what happened. It was a simple delivery. Point A to B. No shots were fired, no resistance, but something went wrong.”

That got her curious. “No witnesses?”

“None that we are aware of at this time.” Varys’ lips pursed, clearly perturbed by that fact.

Elenei rounded the corner again. “Mum! You take forever!”

Sansa felt her phone vibrate and she glanced down at Petyr’s words, _I’m on my way home now. I look forward to holding you._

This was the wrong play.

Acting like nothing wrong only angered her more. Sansa let her hand drop to her daughter’s head. “I know sweetheart, but your brother was hungry.”

“Dammit Durran!” Elenei cursed.

“Whoa!” Sansa gripped her shoulder, giving her a disapproving look. “You know that’s a bad word!”

“Sorry, Mum.” Elenei looked down at the floor. “I heard Daddy saying it a lot last night.”

Had he? _Good_. Let him know how royally he screwed up. Sansa looked down at her. “You know you’re not supposed to use grown up words.”

“Why not?” Elenei moaned.

Sansa pulled Durran from her breast, bringing him to her shoulder for a burp. “Because the burden of constant responsibility pays for the use of profanity.”

Elenei furrowed her brow, “huh?”

Sansa glanced over at Varys who smirked knowingly. She oversimplified, “We pay the bills, so we get to cuss.”

“Dammit!” Elenei swore again, and then her hand shot up to cover her mouth as she looked up at her mother. “Sorry, Mum.”

Sansa felt her phone vibrate again, _I missed you last night._

Anxiety rolled through her body, lifting her shoulders, each foot picking up a little as she felt the very real need to run. Sansa knew she didn’t want to be near Petyr, knew he made her stomach churn, but she hadn’t realized just how severely his betrayal affected her. Suddenly the realization that she wasn’t willing to lie next to someone who felt like a stranger came crashing into her. She shook her head down at Elenei, “Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”

Elenei pulled at her purse, opening it as Sansa spoke to Varys, “I need to leave.”

“No! You just got home!” Elenei protested.

Petyr would never abide her taking his children. He would come after her, and she knew it. If she thought for a moment that they would be in danger or neglected she wouldn’t care. She would clutch them to her as she barreled past Varys and escaped. Thankfully, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Petyr loved his children. He would protect them til his dying day. Knowing that her babies were both safe and loved helped her to let them go, for the time being.

Sansa crouched down, looking back into the eyes she shared with her daughter. “Uncle Branny needs me. I came home to give you hugs and kisses, but I need to go back to him.”

“Cause his legs are broken?” Elenei asked, reaching into her bag.

“Yes.” Sansa decided it best not to explain the full depth of Bran’s injury right then at that moment.

Elenei pulled out two packets of breast milk from her bag. She sighed deeply, her head hung low. “Okay, Mum.” She held them up to her and explained, “I’ll put these in the fridge.”

Sansa had forgotten about them. She instantly freed her other breast and put Durran to it, wanting to nourish him as much as she could before she left. Varys looked at her, his eyes almost begging as he asked, “Perhaps you could stay and rest before you went back?”

“I can’t,” Sansa shook her head. “He lied to me, Varys.”

“And he’s never done that before?” Varys doubted.

Dishonesty was their way of life, it made sense that he might think Petyr would toss her the occasional lie that was a bit darker than an acceptable white. She lifted her chin. “No. Not to me.”

His eyes widened in a moment of silent disbelief as he realized just how much Petyr confided in her, and just how much she valued that aspect of their relationship. “He loves you, you know,” Varys appealed weakly on Petyr’s behalf.

There was a time that she would have shook her head and told him that Petyr _more than_ loved her. However, her husband’s recent actions spoke differently. What a difference years of marriage had on a relationship. “It’s not enough, is it?”

Varys took a step forward, showing his desperation to keep her in place. “It could be. Couldn’t it? You can forgive for love, can’t you?”

Varys tossed the word _love_ around so easily. He didn’t have to suffer the skin-crawling reality of a husband’s disloyalty. Sansa broke Durran’s seal on her nipple and moved him to her shoulder as she lifted the straps of her bra and dress, letting her breasts fall back into place. Durran was warm and solid in her arms, burping his full belly. She thought of the the fourteen hours she spent in the hospital with Bran, him not moving a muscle and shook her head. “I can’t forgive this.”

“Don’t do this, please.” Varys’ own voice caught, “He won’t cope without you.”

Sansa ran her lips across Durran’s baby soft skin, feeling where it moved from smooth flesh to whisper-soft hair. She inhaled his scent again, walking the four steps to Varys. “He’ll have to. He’ll have the children to think about.”

Varys shook his head as she pressed her baby into his arms. “No, Sansa, I can’t. Petyr--”

“There’s at least two or three days worth of milk in the freezer. I’ll keep pumping and I’ll send over the packets. He can have more solid foods now, anyway.” She rubbed Durran’s back as Varys held him close. She smiled at her son and promised him, “It’s not forever, only temporary. A few days.”

“It’s only temporary? Just a little time away?” Varys asked, hopeful.

She meant that her separation from her son was only temporary, not that her time away from Petyr was. In truth, she had no idea how long it would be before she could be in the same room as Petyr Baelish and not feel all her muscles tense. It was easier to agree, so she nodded.

Elenei came back around the corner and flew back into Sansa’s arms. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Sansa kissed her cheeks and tucked her long black hair behind her ears. “But Uncle Branny needs me. And it’s only for--” She paused to think about it. What was fair? Fifty-fifty. “Three days.”

Varys looked noticeably more comfortable having an estimated end date. She already knew he’d be using that often to calm Petyr. There was a small twinge of sadness that nipped at her insides, thinking of Petyr ripping himself apart in her absence. It was small and quickly dissipated when she pictured Bran, thought of Petyr’s secret choices, and his text messages to her as if nothing was wrong.

Elenei gave her a kiss and rubbed her eyes dry. “I’ll take care of Daddy.”

It was as if she were hit in the chest with a baseball bat. Her knees shook and her eyes watered. Sansa felt unable to speak at first. “Yes.” She rose slowly, running her hand over the top of her head one last time. “Thank you, sweetheart. He will need some help.”

“Bye-bye, Mum! See you in three days when Uncle Branny’s all better!” Elenei whipped around and ran back towards the kitchen. “Uncle Olly, can I have another sandwich?”

Sansa heard him respond, “You didn’t finish the last.”

Elenei groaned, “Crusts don’t count!”

Sansa wiped away the tears as she turned back to Varys. He looked up from Durran’s tight grip on his finger. “I am sorry, Sansa. Not for following Petyr’s orders--no, but because of what happened to Bran, to your _family_.”

She didn’t blame him for obeying, not truly. She was just so angry and needed to lash out earlier. “I’ve got to go, Varys. He’s almost home.”

“He’ll have expected me to stop you,” Varys rubbed Durran’s back, bouncing him a little.

Sansa felt the edge creep in her words as she responded, “And I expected a partnership. People are disappointed all the time.”

She leaned in once more to give Durran a kiss and then she made for the door, tears blurring her vision. The thought of Petyr pulling in just as she was leaving made her hands shake. What if he turned the car around and followed her? Petyr would. She knew he would. Her hands shook as she shifted out of park, and her foot hit the pedal harder than she meant to as she fled her home.

Fortunately, Petyr had not pulled into their drive when she was leaving it. She took the direction he was least likely to come home from and high tailed it down the pavement. Sweat matted her hairline, and her heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest. She hadn’t thought any of this through. Where would she go? How long did she expect this to last?

Money. She needed money.

She had just gotten into the city when her phone started ringing, Petyr’s icon appearing again. She ignored it in the cupholder, not willing to hear his voice, or whatever pathetically wrong words he’d try to use on her.

After a couple of seconds her phone rang again and she cursed as she reached for it, ready to tell him to leave her alone when she saw that it was in fact, Myrcella Lannister that was calling.

Sansa brought the phone to her ear, remembering what Varys had told her about Tommen. Bran had driven and Petyr had been trying to cover up that fact. Had the Lannisters already discovered the truth? “Myrcella.”

Cersei’s daughter worked to control her voice. “Sansa. I’m calling to make you aware of Tommen’s funeral.”

“I see,” Sansa had no more tears left to shed, but felt her body trying to regardless.

“We are still working out the details, but it is looking like it will be on the thirteenth.” Myrcella’s voice shook as she said, “There will be an official announcement, once Uncle Tyrion and me can get things set. But I--” She broke off, taking a moment to compose herself, her voice wavering as she finished, “I just wanted to do your family the respect of inviting--” She broke off again.

“It’s alright, Myrcella. I understand completely,” Sansa tried to sooth her, knowing mere words couldn’t.

Myrcella chuckled lightly. “Isn’t it silly?”

“What?”

“Invitations. To a funeral. Are people even really invited to a funeral? It’s not exactly a party is it?” Myrcella’s tone grew sharper, “Does anyone give a damn if someone RSVPs?”

Sansa remembered feeling the same when her parents died. “How’s your mom?”

“You know mom,” Myrcella sniffed. “She’s got a bottle of Zyr, so you know, she can handle anything.”

Shit. Cersei used Zyr for Moscow Mules, a drink Jaime strictly banned from their home because of the mean streak she got from them. He attributed it to Zyr, and she attributed it to the ginger beer. The last time she drank them she rented a real live lion and let him loose in Tyrion’s house because he implied she was a lush. She roared with laughter when Tyrion came home to his house vandalized, shit and piss everywhere, furniture, walls and floors all scratched to hell. Even Sansa cringed at it, remembering all too well what it was like to have a wild animal set loose in one’s home. Jaime got angry and ripped the bottle from her hands, forbidding her to ever drink it again.

Cersei laughed again, “I love it when you set limits with me!”

Sansa remembered Petyr hugging her close as they watched the domestic squabble, trying to stay out of it. Jaime growled, “I mean it this time, Cersei!”

She threw herself at him, her hands sliding up his chest as she purred, “I do too. I like to break them.”

Jaime scowled at her. She kissed his clenched jaw. “And you’re so sexy when you’re tough with me. It makes me wanna trace your balls with my tongue.”

Sansa remembered Petyr gripping her ass as he smirked in her ear, “Shall I be tough with you too?”

She was lost in the memory of such intimacy and had to jam on the brakes to avoid ramming into the car in front of her. She hated Petyr for the life they shared and the way he ruined things with his treachery. She trembled as she switched lanes to avoid the car she almost rear-ended.

“Everything okay?” Myrcella asked, obviously hearing horns honking and Sansa cursing.

“What?” She was taken off guard by the question, having forgotten she was even on the phone. “Yes, of course. Some asshole on the road.”

“Oh, okay.”

Sansa took a breath. “It’s you I’m worried about. Please accept our condolences, we’ll be there. Call me any time for anything.”

“Thanks, Sansa. I’m sorry about Bran. It’s really shitty that it’s my brother’s fault. Mom and Dad would be sorry about it too, if they weren’t so… Well, you know.”

She hated that Myrcella was apologizing for her dead brother. They should know he was innocent, but Sansa wasn’t willing to give her brother up. She was sincere when she replied, “Legs are nothing to life. It is us that is sorry for your family’s loss.”

Myrcella took a deep breath, pausing for a minute before she answered, “I’ve got a lot of other calls to make. Wish me luck.” Myrcella quickly hung up before Sansa could. She would have wondered about that, except that she could hear the hitch in her voice and knew the poor girl was about to start crying.

Her phone was ringing again, with Petyr’s icon as she pulled into the bank parking lot. Again, she ignored the call, walking into the bank. It wasn’t until the bank manager eyed her skeptically that she realized she was still wearing her dress from the night before. She glanced up at the clock, it was a little after one in the afternoon.

Sansa held her head up high as she withdrew large amounts of cash. Cash was untraceable. Her phone went off again, this time a message that read, _What’s going on, Sansa? Why are you taking out so much cash?_ Of course he would know. The bank would have notified him because their money was combined. Not all of it, her parents was locked away from Petyr, but she was certain that if he were determined enough, he could find a way to access it. This money, however, was theirs. Fifty-fifty, like the children. She had every right to take a small chunk of it if she wanted, and she sure as hell didn’t need to consult him about it, as long it didn’t eat into his half. Besides, he certainly didn’t consult her in regards to Bran.

Wait--he did consult her, didn’t he. He just didn’t care what she had to say. She wasn’t sure which was worse, to not ask or to not listen? She sneered as she typed him a short rebellious novel, _You almost got my brother killed, that’s what’s going on. I’ll take as much fucking money as I want. And it’s none of your goddamned business what I do with it._

She tapped the location icon on her phone to disable it, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough. She needed to ditch her phone. As she walked through the door, her bag filled with cash, she glanced up at her car and knew she would need to ditch that too. She hopped in as Brune pulled up and jumped out of his car.

“Fuck off, Brune!” She held her finger up through the car window to silence him, as if the man would have said a word anyway.

To her surprise, he did. “Please, Mrs. Baelish.”

“No,” She clenched her teeth, and stomped on the gas.

Brune shrunk in her rearview mirror, running back to his car. He would have to make an obvious effort to track her down and detain her for Petyr, but she hoped she could be just that much quicker. Sansa took some hard turns and traveled down some roads she didn’t recognize, hoping to throw him. He hadn’t caught up to her, apparently taking too long to get back in his car, when she pulled into a rental car agency and parked around the back.

She walked in the front door and threw money down on the counter, telling them that she would take the Cadillac. Her phone buzzed again, _I understand you’re upset. I don’t blame you. We should talk about this._

He didn’t blame her? That was rich. Blame her for what exactly? Did he have the decency to blame himself for anything? How could she talk to him when the very idea of him made her want to dig her keys into every car in the parking lot? The rental agent held out the keys, “Here you go, ma’am.”

Sansa reached to take them from him, and glanced at the phone he had clipped to his belt. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your phone, and another thousand to not tell a soul about it.”

He smiled uncomfortably. “Excuse me?”

Sansa leaned in. “You heard me. Do you know who I am?”

He nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Baelish.”

“Good. Take the money and be thankful that’s how I’ve decided to motivate you. As you can guess, I always have other means.” Sansa handed over a wad of cash as she reached for his belt, unclipping his phone.

He didn’t answer, and neither did he stop her. She typed a quick message to Petyr from her phone, _I’m ditching this number because you won’t leave me alone. If there is anything involving the kids, call Arya, she’ll know how to get in touch with me._

She got in the car and called Arya, “I’m leaving Baelish.”

“ _Baelish_ \--not Petyr? Are you serious? _Leaving_? I know he did something to fuck up but, what the hell, Sans?” Arya exclaimed.

Sansa stopped at a red light, and pulled her second-hand phone out, scrolling through it’s settings screen. “Listen I’m going to read off my new number. I told him to call you if it’s anything involving the kids, that you’ll be able to get a hold of me.”

“What the fuck, Sansa! You bitch!” Arya growled. “Like I need to step between Littlefinger and his wife. Asking him to go home is one thing, being the only person that knows how to get a hold of you, is totally different.”

Sansa winced, “I know, I’m sorry. I just…” She let her words trail off for a moment, wondering what it was she was just doing. Throwing away seven years of marriage, two kids, a husband who adored her? And double-crossed her. “Look, I’m sorry to put you in the middle. I figured you have Bronn to protect you. Petyr won’t fuck with Bronn’s woman. And Gendry’s nothing to sniff at--I’ve seen those muscles. I need an open line of communication when it comes to the kids, but I can’t have him blowing up my phone. It’s not forever.”

She wanted to tell her that Petyr wouldn’t dare harm her after seeing what resulted from harming Bran, but she wasn’t sure what Petyr was willing to do anymore. She’d never have thought him willing to go against her. Now that he was losing her, what other level of depravity would he sink to?

Arya’s voice called her attention back, “It’s not?”

Arya sounded unsure. Join the club.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.” Sansa felt a lump in her throat form.

Arya sighed, “Okay, Sans. Whatever you need.”

“Has Bran woken up at all?” Sansa asked.

“No. He still hasn’t.” Arya’s own voice caught, “I’m really starting to freak.”

“It’s going to be okay, it is. Robb and Talisa are coming in. Rickon’s there already, isn’t he?” Sansa tried to comfort her as she took a turn towards a clothing store. It wasn’t one of her usual shops, which only worked to her favor to throw Petyr off her scent.

“Yeah. He’s here.” Arya cleared her throat. “When are you coming back?”

Petyr would be at the hospital waiting for her, especially after all this. “Later tonight, really late. I haven’t had a chance to sleep and I feel like I’m going to pass out.” She wasn’t exaggerating. “But I will be back, Arya. You need sleep too. Let Rickon sit with him, Robb will be there shortly. We should be doing this in shifts.”

There was silence for a moment and then Arya answered, “Yeah. You’re right. We should be more organized about this. I’ll talk with Rickon about it.” She attempted a half-hearted laugh. “He’ll make charts and shit, I know it.”

Sansa laughed, nervous energy escaping her. “I have to go, Arya. I’ll text you from my new number. I have to toss this phone.”

“Okay. See you tonight.”

“Yeah.” Sansa ended the call and threw her phone out the window as she drove to find a parking spot in the shopping plaza.

She moved in and out of the store quickly, not bothering to try anything on, but instead grabbing a few pairs of pants, shirts, and underwear. The cashier gave her the total and she looked back surprised, “That’s it?”

The girl nodded her head as if Sansa was crazy to ask. Sansa threw money down on the counter and grabbed the bag to leave. The girl looked up, “Hey! Your change!”

“Keep it,” Sansa called back over her shoulder, moving quickly for the exit.

She pulled out of the parking lot quickly, telling herself to slow down to avoid any unwanted attention. Petyr bent the police at will, so it wouldn’t be surprising if it was more than just Brune looking for her.

Sansa drove past the first three hotels she saw, but pulled into the fourth. Hotels took credit cards, at least any hotel she’d be caught dead in. She eyed the two attendants behind the counter, one young girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and a man in his thirties with way too much gel in his hair. Bingo. She swerved to the left and smiled at him, letting the girl take the other customers.

“How can I help you ma’am?” He flashed her a smile that looked a bit more than professional. He had no doubt taken in her rumpled state. The revealing dress she wore would have to be peeled off after the long hours spent by her brother's bedside. He must have thought her a working girl or, at the very least, a woman used to walking around unshowered after a night of thorough fucking. He didn't know about the hours she'd spent in the hospital -- watching over her brother, caring for her children -- all in that skimpy dress. None of that mattered. If he was sleazy enough to fantasize about her that way, he was sleazy enough to take the money.

She lowered her voice as she leaned over the counter. “I need a room, cash only.”

He glanced at her cleavage. “It’s hotel policy to book a room with a credit card and a form of picture identification.”

Sansa reached in her purse and fanned the hundreds out. “Could you maybe use your own credit card and ID? I’m happy to reimburse you.”

He looked down at the cash and then back up at her. She watched him weigh the risks and benefits in his head. “Our rooms are only four hundred a night.”

Sansa set her bag down to block her hands from view as she silently counted the cash into three piles of four hundred. “I’d like it for three nights.” She then started a new pile, counting hundreds silently, making sure he was counting as well. His eyes grew wide once she hit a thousand and his jaw dropped. “Something for your trouble.”

He turned to better hide the cash as he called to the younger girl beside him. “Go ahead on break, I’ll take your line after this nice lady.”

“You sure?” She asked doubtfully. Apparently he wasn’t usually so selfless. Sansa scanned him up and down again, taking in the fake tan, cheap gold chain, and high school football ring on his finger. It wasn’t a college class ring, but a high school one, and he was in his thirties. Pathetic. Of course it was strange to the girl that he would take on any extra work.

“Yes,” he answered quickly.

As soon as she was out of sight, he moved to scoop the money up and Sansa set her hand down to cover it. “My room?”

“Yes, absolutely.” He reached for his wallet, pulling his cards out as he punched the information into the computer. Within minutes he handed her an envelope containing a room key and a wifi password.

She walked away, leaving him to scoop up the cash. A short elevator ride later and what felt like a mile walk down the hallway, Sansa was in a hot shower. It loosened her muscles, constantly flexed with worry and anger over the last twenty four hours. Without meaning to, she thought of the many times Petyr massaged the tension away from her shoulders in a nice shower or a warm bath. He was very adept at getting her to relax, knowing just how to touch her, where to press his fingers. She clenched her teeth and turned the water off as she realized that was before. That was not something she could think of, not while she felt this way, not after he did what he did.

Sansa toweled off and took a shirt and some sweatpants from her bag, slipping them on quickly before she crawled into bed. A quick glance at her phone told her it was almost four o’clock. She’d promised Arya that she’d be back at the hospital in the evening. She would see Petyr then, she was sure of it. He wouldn’t stand for her walking out on him. He would want a confrontation, even if he had to stalk the hospital to achieve it.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling confident for the first time that she wouldn’t have to see or talk to Petyr again until she was prepared for it. That was all she was truly trying to accomplish, a few hours without him stalking her every move, of her not having to even know him. Sleep took her quickly, dragging her down under the weight of consciousness to the freedom of dream.

When she woke, it was dark out. A single light shone, though she hadn’t remembered turning it on before she collapsed on the bed. Very slowly, she stirred, lifting herself up off the pillow.

She was rubbing the blurriness from her eyes when she heard a familiar voice comment, “You’re beautiful while you sleep. Always have been.”

Sansa whipped her head around to see Petyr sitting in the lounge chair at the foot of the bed. Panic rose in her throat as she asked, “Is Arya alright?”

“Of course. She’s my sister in law, I’d never hurt her.” Petyr looked offended.

Just like he would never hurt Bran? “Then, how?”

He grinned proudly at her. “I’ll always find you, Sansa.”

Where his possession of her usually gave her butterflies in her belly, it only served to irritate her now. A bottle of his favorite cognac and two glasses sat on the table beside him. The bottle looked about half finished. “How long have you been here?”

“A few hours.” He shrugged. “You were exhausted, but that’s because you’ve been through a lot.” His grin turned to a sneer, “It must be draining to run away from me.”

She sat up further in bed. “I see my efforts were wasted. I thought it’d at least buy me a night without having to know you.”

He winced as he poured himself another drink. “Ouch, that hurts.”

“Oh really? _You’re_ hurt?”

He poured her a glass. “I’m thankful.”

“Thankful?” She eyed him suspiciously as he gestured for her to accept the drink he offered.

“Mm, that when I keyed in, I was saved the sight of you fucking someone else.” He smiled a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

Sansa scoffed, and reached forward, snatching the drink off the table. She would need a drink in order to converse with him. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“It would be a way to get me back--to hurt me. You were awfully angry.” He explained, sipping his glass.

She took a swig before she rolled her eyes. “Because coming from bellboy cock certainly equals lifelong paralysis.”

Petyr glowered into his drink. “Your thinking has been quite erratic, it’s been difficult to guess your method of revenge.”

She swallowed the last of her drink and chuckled hatefully. “My brother is in a coma, and my _husband_ put him there. If I have to fuck a bellboy to be rid of you, so be it.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he warned her, pouring another glass for them both. “I know you’re angry, but it will pass. We will get through this.”

Sansa turned away from him, knowing she couldn’t let him talk too long. Words were his weapon, hers too. She would use them on him before he could her. “I need time to think. I need space. You won’t give it to me, so I took it.”

He was suddenly behind her. “You’ve needed space before, and you’ve managed it at home. This is unnecessary.”

“You’ve made it necessary.” She felt her shoulders tense again. “I left the children with you, so you know I’m not trying to take them from you.”

“You couldn’t if you wanted to,” he whispered behind her. “I’d never let anyone take my children from me.”

“Likewise.” She took a breath. “I’m glad we got that settled.”

He brought his finger to her arm, trailing it down gently as he asked, “How long do you need?”

Sansa’s head hung as she felt his other hand come up to her waist, resting it there gently as he waited for her answer. Part of her told herself to lash out, deny him this closeness. She had been so hurt, so angry that the sight of him made her physically ill, yet here she was, letting him sidle up behind her. “I don’t know.”

He lifted her hair and moved it over her shoulder as he spoke. “Elenei told me three days. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Sansa admitted. “I thought we could divide the week equally.”

His body was hot behind her, as his voice reproached her. “I don’t like this. I don’t think it’s fair to the children for you to run away just because you’re annoyed with me.”

“ _Annoyed?!_ ” She ground through her teeth, whipping her head around to glare daggers at him.

Her swift change in position allowed him the opportunity to swoop in. He caught her around the waist, locking her body to his as his hand reached up to catch her face. His lips were on hers in an instant and when she tried to pull away, his fingers thread into her hair, gripping it to keep her from moving. She couldn’t breathe, finding he only let up if she kissed him back. When he felt her mouth moving, he let her turn to catch her breath as he kissed a trail down her neck, relentless in his grip of her.

“Petyr, stop,” she panted.

His teeth dug into her flesh as he pushed them both onto the bed. Sansa wiggled underneath him, “I’m not fucking you.”

She felt her sweatpants push down her hip as he kissed her chest. He was determined as he replied, “I told you, we can work through this. We just need to touch, to reconnect. It’s how we are.”

Sansa grabbed a handful of her pants and yanked them back up. A rogue moan escaped her as his palm pressed through layers of clothing, to her womanhood. “Fucking won’t fix this.”

“You’re not even trying.”

Her hands moved to his hair, gripping handfuls to pull his head back. She glared at his dilated pupils. “No, I’m not! What does that tell you?”

Petyr closed his eyes and swore in defeat, “ _Fuck_.” Slowly he rose up off the bed, his lips pursed. “I just thought--”

“I know what you thought.” Sansa stood up, and stepped away from the bed. If it were any other argument or disagreement, she wouldn’t have faulted him for trying to use sex to bring back their intimacy. In fact, in most cases, she enjoyed being overtaken and claimed. “This is different. You lied to me.”

Still offended that his attempt to seduce her was fruitless, he defended, “You knew I was a liar when you married me.”

“Not to me. Never to me.” Sansa shot back, her eyes piercing. “And you know that.”

He stood staring back at her, smart enough to hold his tongue.

“We always work together, we’re partners.” Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. “But this time you didn’t include me. You worked around me. _Against_ me.”

Petyr sighed and looked down. “He came to me specifically, Sansa.”

“Because he knew I’d say no.”

“Because he knew I’d understand,” Petyr argued.

Sansa scoffed, “What’s it’s like to lie to your family?”  

“What’s like to want to provide for them,” Petyr countered.

She shook her head, “Bran would never starve, neither would Meera or their baby. You saved his trust fund, and we’d gladly finance him further if need be. This was not something he did out of necessity.”

“It was for him, as a man.” Petyr breathed, “As the head of his house.”

“Get out. Just get out of here.” Sansa pointed at the door. She couldn’t listen to his sexist bullshit, or his attempt at excusing his actions by claiming some deeper understanding of a pretty transparent situation. Bran wanted to puff out his chest with a good payload. Petyr wanted to play the cool brother-in-law, and it was apparently worth going against her. Somewhere in the mix of it all, Bran got hurt and she found out.

He took a few steps towards the door, and paused. “I will give you this space because you are so determined to have it. But, I’m telling you right now, Sansa, this allowance will expire and you will come home.”

“I don’t know that I will,” she fumed.

Petyr smiled, knowingly. “You will, eventually. Would you like to know how I know?”

She stood silent, refusing to feed into his confidence.

“Because you are mine, and you’ll never not be. No matter what I have to do.”

He was gone, leaving her with words he’d spoken to her once before, to echo in her brain. She got his message loud and clear. She had one foot out the door and he was refusing to accept it. Her brain told her he was callous, and her heart told her he was passionate. Such dichotomy left her leaning against the wall for support.

How easily Petyr stormed in and out of her life, brushing off her protests. He was a powerful man, and on any other day she would adore his show of strength. This was not any other day, however. The stakes were much higher here than an argument over a whore. As she pulled herself from the wall, something struck her: he hadn’t apologized.

In all that he said to her, admitted and excused, he hadn’t actually apologized for his actions. She had been dead set to refuse it, should it be presented, but it wasn’t. She wasn’t sure what she was upset by more, that he didn’t seem to think all of his offenses warranted an apology, or that she didn’t have the opportunity to decline it.

Her phone buzzed, _Robb and Talisa are here, they got an earlier flight._

_I’m on my way._


	5. A Business to Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For business. Such a convenient excuse.

Damn it. How hard was it to meet in a neutral, public place--for no longer than fifteen minutes? Just meet, say nothing, and hand over the kids. How hard was that? For Petyr Baelish, it was impossible, and she knew that. It was ridiculous to think that it would work out that way, but he had given her false hope that she was all too eager to believe in.

Sansa had been quite clear with Petyr that after three days, she would get her children with every intention of returning them to him when three days had passed for her. Petyr seemed to have agreed, and then Varys called and changed their plans. 

For business. 

Such a convenient excuse.

Jon drove the car, offering her sympathetic glances at each red light. It was hard to leave Bran’s side, especially to have to meet with Petyr, but somehow Jon volunteering to come with her helped. They may have had to fudge the details a little for Ygritte, but Sansa didn’t care, she couldn’t have been more grateful. Jon was out of the life--somewhat, and his woman would have given him hell if she ever found out he was accompanying Sansa to act as her right. It wasn’t long term, just temporary. Just this one meeting. 

She sounded just like Petyr. 

No. She shook her head to herself, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Jon. He raised an eyebrow at her and she waved him off. This was different because Jon had been like a right hand to her for many years, always at her side. It was the Baelishes’ decision to run the city’s organized crime, something that continually put themselves in danger. Ygritte didn’t approve of Jon risking his life on a daily basis, even for family. After finally getting his dream girl, Jon took a step back from the life to appease her. For as demanding as she was of Jon, Ygritte was lucky Sansa tolerated her as much as she did.

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to stop making excuses, but more than that, she needed to stop feeling like she needed to. She was going to see Petyr for the first time in three days and it was rattling her. He had that effect. 

She wanted space and he gave it, however reluctantly. The first night was perfect, just what she needed: an empty bed to roll around on and claim her independence from the backstabbing prick formerly known as the only man she ever devoted herself to. The second night was less exciting, but still just as freeing. On the third night, she found that lining one side of the bed with pillows helped her sleep better…

That was irrelevant however, because she was on her way to get her kids, and they would make everything better. Sure, there would be some business talk in the beginning, but she would get to hold her children in her arms again and that was all that mattered. She wondered what Elenei would think of the hotel room, how Durran would react to her scent as she held him. She had tried desperately not to think of them while they stayed with Petyr, though thoughts of them crept in, giving tiny internal cuts to wound her. Only sitting by Bran’s side, focusing her worry on him, staunched the emotional bleed of a mother bereft of her children.

She glanced over at Jon, more thankful with every mile closer that he agreed to come. It was nice to have someone with her, supporting her. She lost the feeling of unconditional support that only a husband could give when she walked out on Petyr. When she experienced that loss, she at least also felt the need to do him bodily harm lessen considerably. 

Sansa separated herself from Petyr, but had no notion of how severely, letting emotion rule her. Were they _ done _ done? Completely? Or did she just need time? She didn’t know,  _ couldn’t _ know. He was such a fucking asshole, but he was also her husband of seven years, father to her children. Petyr knew her inside and out, and while that fact irritated her now, she had valued that about him for many years. 

The north was hers, taken back from Clegane, and the east was Petyr’s. Technically speaking, a split would be relatively cut and dry, their territories easily dividable. That would be true if the Tyrells were still alive and ruling. A split now would just weaken them against the Lannisters, which no doubt was what motivated Varys to insist on meeting. 

They were only two stop lights away from the rendezvous, where she would be reunited with her babies. Jon took the opportunity to turn to her and insist that the meeting wouldn’t be “that bad,” that Petyr loved her and Jon truly believed they would work things out. His reaction to the whole thing had been quite reasonable, which was more than she could say for her own, or the rest of her family’s. 

When she told Arya, her sister shook her head and cursed, “Shit. If he really did that, then maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world that he’s left to stew and squirm a bit, the fucker.” 

Rickon had kept quiet for a while before squeezing Sansa’s shoulder. “People make mistakes. Some aren’t forgivable. If you don’t forgive him, then neither do I.”

Robb was more dramatic, not knowing Petyr or her marriage to him as well as their other siblings. He grabbed her arm and plead, “You and I, we’ll go grab the kids, and then come with me and Talisa. Fuck Littlefinger, we’ll tuck you away from him. I doubt he could find you in Africa.” 

It was Meera who answered, saying what Sansa was about to, “There’s no hiding from him. Especially not if you’re his wife. Sansa doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh, you think she’s so weak, do you?” Talisa raised her voice, showing a bit of spine. Sansa wondered if her sister-in-law had that much faith in her, or if she was simply being true to her feminist roots.  

“No, we just know him, Talisa. You don’t,” Arya rubbed her belly and took a breath. “No one can shake him, especially not Sansa.” 

Bronn brought her a chair and crouched down beside her, rubbing her belly and whispering something intimate into her ear. Arya smiled and covered his hand with hers. 

“And you’re just okay with this?” Robb asked incredulous. “He put our brother in the hospital, and you’re all telling me he’s going to stalk Sansa, and you’re all cool with that?”

“Not  _ going to _ stalk,” Bronn picked his head up. “ _ Stalking _ . Currently.”

Rickon’s eyes widened, alarmed. “Sansa--”

“It’s okay.” Sansa wrapped an arm around Rickon. “I’m fine.” 

“He won’t hurt her,” Arya assured them. “He wants her back. He might hurt us to get her, but he won’t hurt her.”

Talisa scoffed and paced under the florescent lights of the hospital. “ _ Hurt us _ \--awesome.”

Gendry suddenly appeared, his hands full of coffees from the cafeteria. “What did I miss?” 

Robb rolled his eyes. “Oh nothing much, Littlefinger put our brother in a coma and paralyzed him for life. Sansa, naturally, left him. Now, he’s stalking her, but apparently that’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Oh, shitty.” Gendry gave Arya a look, begging for some direction in the conversation. 

Bronn laughed and took pity on Gendry, gesturing for him to come closer and stand by Arya’s side. “Little bit is doing yoga inside her. Lots of stretching.” 

Gendry smiled down to Arya and ran his hand through her hair. “I told you Muscles, you’re too little to be preggers. You don’t have the wide hips for it.” 

“Oh they spread,” Bronn explained, forgetting Arya was there. “I’ve seen even the most petite of birds push out watermelon after watermelon.” 

“Shit, if her hips spread, will her ass?” Gendry asked, a slight note of concern in his voice. 

Arya turned beat red and fumed, “My ass is not going to spread!” 

Jon and Ygritte smirked at each other privately, and a slight blush touched Rickon’s cheeks. “No going back now though, huh?” He tried to seize the opportunity to redirect the conversation away from Petyr’s obsession with his big sister. 

“I told her not to lay down after. You know, let gravity save us and all, but no!” Bronn gave a martyred sigh, “ _ Oh Bronny-bear, you wore me out _ !”

“I have never called you  _ Bronny-bear _ in my life!” Arya scowled and started to get up out of the chair, causing Bronn to jump back. 

Gendry laughed and clasped his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back into the seat. “I seem to remember something quite similar happening with us,  _ Oh Gen, I’ll get up, I just gotta rest my eyes a minute. _ ”

“I swear to everything holy, if you two don’t shut the fuck up--” 

A light chuckle escaped Sansa as she thought back to her sister’s righteous indignation. It was a happy memory, which in the past three days was a rarity. Just because he remained quiet and allowed for Arya and her men to steal the show, did not mean that Robb had let the situation go. He caught her alone a couple hours later and tried a different approach. “I love you, Sans. I want you and the kids safe. You know I’ve never been a fan of Little-- _ Petyr, _ but I know you loved him, so I shut up about it.”

She appreciated his honesty. 

“Things don’t seem safe right now. Marriages don’t always work out. There’s no shame in ending this for the children’s sake.” Robb’s big eyes seemed to give her permission to let go of her life, to flee it, even.

The thought that her babies could get caught in the crossfire of whatever Petyr’s latest scheme was, clenched at her chest. Petyr loved Bran; she knew it. He always had a soft spot for him. Out of all the Starks, Petyr favored Bran the most, and there he was, in a coma. No one knew how, either. Stannis said that there was no evidence as to what might have happened, Varys stated that there were no witnesses. If this wasn’t Petyr’s doing, then something happened outside of the Baelishes’ control, and who was to say that it didn’t happen because of Petyr’s love for him? 

Petyr loved their children. 

Shit. What if Robb had a point? Did the kids need to be protected from Petyr? No. Never.

Except, what if the kids became targets simply because Petyr loved them? Sansa could never take the children away from Petyr, but she could ensure their safety at least fifty percent of the time. Perhaps separating from Petyr would guarantee that at least some of the time, the kids would be safe. Robb’s words spun around in her head from the moment he spoke them until now, three days later, riding in a car to see her husband for the first time since he sat in her hotel room and waited for her to wake up.

Throughout their marriage, Petyr had gone from time to time for business across the narrow sea. It was rare and not for very long, two weeks at most. Three days was nothing compared to that, yet it felt as if it had been much longer, and she found herself picking at her hair in the window. Jon parked the car and sighed, signing to her that she looked fine. She bristled, “I don’t care, Jon. It’s not like I’m trying to look good for Petyr, cause I’m not.” 

Jon raised an eyebrow that told her she protested too much, and opened his door. She sat there for a moment, taking a breath. Petyr had been good, he hadn’t messaged her, other than the once to prove to her that he had her new pilfered phone number.

_ Show off _ , she smirked to herself. She quickly frowned, looking down at her hands nervously wringing the material of her skirt. 

She used to love his smug nature, but still feeling the sting of his lack of remorse, of his presumption, the quality was much less appealing. Sansa forgave herself for that brief moment of weakness, telling herself that old habits died hard and seven years was long enough to create a habit, if not an addiction.  

Jon’s knuckles rapped on the window, startling her out of her thoughts. He opened the door for her and she stepped out, her eyes darting around. A warehouse was a bit dramatic, but then again Petyr had a flare for it. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs as her heel clicked on the cement. She was too done up and she knew it. 

The meeting was being held in a warehouse, of all places, to pick up her children. She should have been in jeans and a t-shirt, wearing the latest macaroni necklace Elenei made her. The pencil skirt and the perfect blow-out, however, was definitely meant to show that unapologetic bastard what he was missing. Arya would roll her eyes if she knew that Sansa went from the hospital to the hair salon. Cersei would be proud. God, she missed Cersei, hadn’t spoken with her since the night everything went to shit. Sansa had sent a couple of messages sending her condolences, but none were returned. The Lannister family would no doubt be an agenda item on Varys’ list. 

Varys stood with his hands in his pockets, a forced look of neutrality on his face. Petyr stood beside him, wearing a wild grin. Before she could think of the best way to school her face, he closed the gap between them, pulling her into a tight embrace. She stood stunned for fraction of a second and then started to wriggle in his arms. His breath was hot in her ear, “Don’t fight it, Sansa.”

“Excuse me?” She scrunched her face in disgust. 

His hand rubbed her back. “Look to your left.” 

She turned her head over his shoulder to the wall next to them. A big observation window showed the foreman’s office and her daughter coloring inside, next to Ros, holding Durran. He purred in her ear, “Smile for Elenei.” 

Every muscle in her body flexed as she growled in his ear, “You fucking prick.” Her arms slowly raised and wrapped around him, mirroring his backrub for the window. 

She could feel him smile into her neck, “Do you have a kiss for Daddy?” 

“Don’t you dare try it!” She warned through a smile as Elenei waved through the glass, holding up a picture that looked quite abstract at that distance. 

“What? Kiss my  _ wife _ ?” He brought his hand to her cheek and pulled his head from her shoulder to face her. 

She wanted to glare at him, tell him with her eyes to remove his hands from her.

She wanted to. 

The familiar mossy green pools caught her off guard, reminding her of the many times she willingly,  _ lovingly _ looked back into them. Sansa was still studying them when she felt his lips graze hers, and his lashes tickle her cheek as his lids closed. The sensation blazed through her, heating and tingling every nerve ending in her body, leaving every hair standing on end. 

Her eyes closed against her will as she wavered into the taste of mint. This kiss was different from his last. It wasn’t forced, but  _ coerced _ , and felt much more like how they used to be, rather than how they were now. Perhaps their brief time apart had been just what he needed to pull out of his panic and regroup? Persuasion had always been a strength of Petyr’s, and she’d damped many a panty over her admiration of it in their time together. 

His thumb rubbed over her jaw as he pulled back to hover his lips over hers. “You were right, sex won’t fix it. I got it wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t understand.”

He apologized. 

His voice was soft and sincere; it held no lie.

She blinked her eyes open, still in his grasp, still compromised. The desire in his gaze told her that while he may understand now logically, his body still wanted to fuck away the hard feelings. Wasn’t that just what they were good at? Could she really blame him for running to what usually worked in the past? Especially after how passionately her body responded to a simple kiss? 

Sansa reminded herself that it wasn’t that simple. This kiss was loaded. He knew it and she knew it. She fought with distance and he fought with the oxytocin haze that their lips clouded them in. 

And damn if she wasn’t feeling the needy ache in her breasts, that she knew all too well, pressed against his chest. For a second, she let herself think about how good it would feel to work through her anger, punishing him with a grueling pace that her youth could sustain but that he couldn’t keep up with. He would have to surrender under her and let her take what she wanted from him. That would teach him, school the smug bastard at his own game. Except that it wouldn’t work if he could, in fact, keep up--or if he derailed her by taking the reins as he just did.

This was the wrong line of thinking and she knew it. It may bring her back to his bed, sure, but she’d resent him even more for it. What would she think of herself after? It was with his arms still around her that she pursed her lips, fighting the effects of the kiss and the head trip it sent her on. “That wasn’t necessary.” 

He brought her hand up for a kiss as he offered her a small smile. “I disagree. Elenei’s used to seeing us kiss. To not do so would be suspicious.” He smoothed her hair over her shoulder as he added, “Besides, I didn’t let my hand venture any lower than your back. And I think we both know how much I would have loved to grip the underside of your ass, and pull you closer to rub my hard cock against you. You may resist the urge to squirm against it like you used to, but I've always given into my urges whenever they involved you.” He snickered, “I should get points for self-control.”

Points? Was this funny to him? She took a step back, regaining her own control with the loss of contact. “I won’t respond to your vulgarity.”

“It’s vulgar now?” He cocked his head in question. “I thought I was being direct.” He smiled warmly, “You like it when I’m upfront about how much I want you.” 

She eyed him up and down, seeing just how pleased he looked to see her, to touch her and tease her. He was twisting her words against her. In the past she revelled in his sexy prose, but not now when everything was so confusing. He knew that; he had to. He was just doing this to throw her off.

Sansa took a deep breath and reminded herself that he apologized; it wasn’t going to fix anything, and he was still being difficult, but the three days apart had clearly done him some good. She told herself to focus on that. Replaying his apology in her brain, she realized something very upsetting. He apologized alright, for the wrong thing! 

Petyr’s apology was rooted in his inappropriate response to her anger, not to the original offense. He still hadn’t taken any accountability for Bran, for his betrayal. Was it willful on his part, or was he truly that daft? 

“Jon, it’s good to see you,” Petyr smiled at him, seemingly unaware of her internal turmoil and the rage her realization had rekindled.

Jon nodded to him politely. She wondered if her cousin had ever been anything less than cordial in his life, and if so why couldn’t he tap that side of himself right then? He was standing beside her, he needed to follow her lead. If she scowled at Petyr, so too should have he. She glanced down in shame as she realized that she still tasted Petyr’s tongue in her mouth, perhaps Jon was doing well, considering.

“Talk business, fast. I miss my children.” Sansa turned to Varys, who’d been remaining silent, allowing the Baelishes their moment. Did he think that they would suddenly reconcile over one forced kiss? If so, he was sorely mistaken. 

Varys took a step forward, his forehead wrinkling as he spoke. “I understand the severity of the situation, Sansa. What happened to Bran is not something easily forgiven or forgotten.”

At least someone understood. 

She felt her back straightening, “Get to the point, Varys.”

“It doesn’t look good, you two being apart.” He shook his head for emphasis. 

“Fuck what it looks like.” She hated that she let Petyr kiss her, that she entertained the idea of screwing him.

“I don’t mean in a ‘oh dear, what will the neighbors think’ sort of way. I mean for business,” Varys clarified. “If this is temporary, this needs to come to a close. And if it’s not temporary, then maybe it’s time to find way to cope with your unity.” 

_ Cope with their unity? _

He meant for her make herself stay with Petyr. She glanced over at Petyr to gauge his reaction. He stared ahead at her, his smug smile never leaving his lips. Of course he was unfazed by this, if anything, he was eating it up. She grit her teeth, “Explain to me why  _ forcing  _ myself,” she glanced at Petyr to make sure he saw just how detestable the idea was to her. “To  _ stomach _ the idea of living with Petyr again is good for business.” 

“Simple math,” Varys was quick to say. “The Lannisters own fifty percent of this city, divided you and Petyr only own twenty-five each. Keep ourselves apart and you’re weaker targets to the Lannisters.” 

She knew that. She also knew that while the Lannisters had lost a son, she had not come out of things unscathed. They would know her little brother was severely injured. Add to that, that the phone call with Myrcella provided no evidence that the Lannisters were going to make any sort of power play. “I hardly think that right now, arranging their youngest son’s funeral, they are thinking about gaining more territory.”

“Cersei and Jaime may not be,” Petyr raised a hand to agree with her. “But, Tyrion is not too overcome with emotion to keep their businesses afloat. I guarantee you now, as we speak, he is managing things for his brother.” 

Sansa flicked her gaze over at Varys. “Isn’t that what a right’s for? Keep things running? I fail to see the issue.” 

“The issue is that Jaime and Cersei may be too grief-stricken to look past initial explanations, but that doesn’t mean Tyrion is,” Varys was quick to defend. 

Sansa crossed her arms and looked at Petyr, her lip curling in disgust as she pointed out the obvious. “You paid off the first responders.”

He popped a mint in his mouth. He was uncomfortable. Good. “Yes, I did.” 

“Then the issue is?” Sansa challenged, partially because she felt obstinate, and partially because she was resentful of being in Petyr’s presence any longer than necessary. 

Petyr pulled his knife out, flipping it a few times for show. Elenei smiled from the other side of the window and cheered him on. She loved it when Petyr and Auntie Aerie did tricks, always grabbing her practice blade to try to mimic, though usually it just slipped from her grip and landed on her toe.

Sansa knew better, however; this wasn’t to entertain. Petyr was making a point, trying to show her that he was more than a husband missing his wife. Petyr had other concerns as well; he had a business to run. His fingers twisted and flipped the handles and the blade as he answered, “The issue is that it’s much easier to clean up when things appear to be business as usual. You and I together is very much business as usual, Sansa. Come home, and stop weakening us with rash, emotional decisions.” 

Pure rage took over, and the words propelled out of her faster than she could consider them. “You pathetic cock-sucking, waste of skin!”

Profane insults didn’t upset Petyr and she knew it. It was the way her fists clenched and she ground the words through her teeth that would have the largest impact. There was a genuine look of surprise on his face for a millisecond before he cleared his expression. 

_ Oh, did I rile you, Petyr? Now you know what it feels like _ , she thought to herself, quite pleased with his uncontrolled response. She had to think quickly, turn this on him. Petyr was too easy, too comfortable leaning on her, trying to get his way. The love of her life went behind her back, endangered her brother and in the process the youngest Lannister died. She was not the one who needed to squirm. 

Sansa smoothed her hands over her dress again as she regained her control. She ignored his smirk at her gesture and raised her chin. “I will not have you imply that I am placing our children in danger simply because I choose to separate myself from a pathetic backstabbing  _ fuck _ like you.” 

“Careful now, Elenei’s watching,” Petyr reminded her. 

She laughed and took a step forward, hating how he hid behind a four year old. Sansa took his hand in hers, turning to make sure Elenei could see. “You’re right, Petyr. Let’s smile at our daughter while I tell you how just much I regret the past seven years of my life with you.” Sansa made a show of waving, wearing a perfect smile as she brought his hand to her lips, giving his knuckles a quick peck. 

He turned away from the window to hide the pained expression on his face. She spoke through her grin, “What’s the matter? Plan backfiring?” She rubbed his knuckles with her thumb, no longer disgusted with the contact. Why would she be when it was finally done on her terms? “That happens, doesn’t it?” 

He pulled his hand from hers quickly and she laughed at him. Her chest swelled with power and dominance. Fuck him for thinking he could control her! He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair, “You’re upset. I understand.” 

“I don’t care if you do,” she shrugged, and then gave Varys a bored look, knowing Petyr was soaking up every gesture and expression. Apathy was the most painful to him. “Are we done? This meeting has been fruitless and I’d like to hug my daughter now.” 

Varys’ sullen expression promised that there was more, “The Lannisters think Tommen was driving, for now. It would be easy for them to find out that it wasn’t.” 

“How?” 

“How many hands touch a body, Sansa?” Petyr lifted his head, his gaze intent. 

She said nothing, waiting for him to educate her, as he was all too eager to do.

“Where does the body go once the first EMTs determine it dead?” Petyr asked. 

Sansa blinked, still not giving him the satisfaction of a guess. He would tell her; she could tell he wanted to. 

“ _ Autopsy _ , Sansa,” Varys interjected, much to Petyr’s clear disappointment. She wondered why Varys would point that out, knowing Petyr wanted to. Was there trouble in paradise? Sansa eyed them both again and noticed a distinct note of sympathy in Varys’ eyes. She wondered if he ruined it for Petyr so he wouldn’t have the upper hand again. Varys understood people and the importance of a more equal footing between two parties for if there was ever to be a chance at reconciliation. It could have been construed as thoughtful, sweet even, but Sansa knew better. Varys was trying to keep the business running. He elaborated, “Drivers don’t fly through windshields the way passengers do, and therefore don’t sustain the same injuries. Autopsies tend to highlight that.”

Sansa turned her attention back to Petyr, “We’ve never been concerned with that sort of thing before.” 

“Because it’s always been a hit. We call a hit, we clean up after ourselves.” Petyr shifted on his feet. “This wasn’t us. And it clearly wasn’t the Lannisters either.” 

“Who was it? What happened?” She’d been wondering from the moment Petyr told her that they needed to go to the hospital, cagey in his reasoning. How had things gone wrong?

His gaze dropped to his feet. “I honestly don’t know.” 

“Do you expect me to believe you?” She didn’t try to hide the sneer that came naturally. 

“Yes, it’s the truth,” Petyr lifted his head.

“How would I know that?” Sansa scoffed, “You seem to have no problem lying to me.” 

This was his chance to apologize, another one anyway. It wouldn’t fix things, but it would have been a start. She waited on baited breath.

His cheek twitched as he reaffirmed, “I do not know what happened. I have been looking into it, and so far I haven’t found anything new out.” Petyr inhaled deeply, calming himself. “That is why it is so important for you to come home. If the Lannisters find out anything is amiss, they will come for us. We are stronger together, Sansa.”

No apology.

Again. 

She tilted her head as she turned his words over in her brain, appraising him- _ -hating  _ him. “ _ You’d _ be safer; that’s what you’re telling me.” 

Petyr scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m not,” she smiled. “You’re the one who fucked up. If people see us apart, they’re going to wonder why I would ever leave you.” Sansa took a couple of steps, listening to her heels click on the concrete floor, feeling more and more powerful. “Since it’s my family member paralyzed for life and in a coma, they’re going to see quite clearly that you fucked up somehow.” 

Petyr remained silent. 

“You. Not me.” Sansa glanced back at Elenei through the window, remembering the idea that she was putting the children in danger by leaving Petyr. “If anything, me separating myself from you, is showing them how not on-board I was. It may be the very thing that protects the children from any backlash.” 

“Sansa, no--” 

She raised a hand, cutting Varys off. “Say whatever you want, it’s true, isn’t it? Word gets out that Petyr’s behind this and they’ll come for him. That’s why you want me to stay, to hide his guilt.” 

Petyr shook his head, “I’m not behind anything. I told you, I don’t know what happened.” 

She lunged forward, her hair falling in front of her face, blocking it from the children’s view as she growled, “And I told you, I don’t believe a goddamn word you say. Not anymore.”

Jon had been silent this whole time, the strong man to both her figurative and literal right. He cleared his throat and took a step forward, placing a hand on Sansa’s arm. To anyone else it would look like support, but Sansa knew it for what it was, regulation. His eyes plead with her to control herself. Sansa glared at him, ready to tear his head off, but stopped herself from it when he lifted his hands to speak. 

He asked Petyr why they didn’t pay off the coroner. That was a good question. Sansa stared back at him, waiting for a response. Petyr sighed and rolled his eyes, “Of course, I paid them off.”

Sansa darted a glance at Varys, “Really? So that’s all taken care of then? When were you going to share that tidbit of information?” 

Varys pursed his lips and looked down, guilty. 

She rounded on Petyr, “If your plan was to get me here and convince me to come back to you, for the _ safety of the children _ , by lying to me, it was stupid.” Sansa raised her chin, proud. “If anything, you’ve just convinced me of how much better off I’d be cutting ties with you. I’m not guilty here. At least this way, I can count on the kids being safe with me at least fifty percent of their lives.” 

“My kids are always safe with me,” Petyr snarled. 

“Upset?” Sansa smirked, “How does it feel to be doubted as a parent?” 

“You’re being unreasonable,” Petyr’s nostrils flared. He took a deep breath, centering himself. “I never once said you weren’t a good mother.” He took another controlled breath, forcing himself to calm. “But, I forgive you. I’m never myself without you; I can’t blame you for being the same.” 

Her eye literally twitched at that. Had he not heard a word she’d said?

“Give me my children, now.” Each word shot with intent to injure. 

Varys frowned, “Sansa, please--”

“Please, what?” She cocked her head at him. “Please fall for this bullshit-ploy to let Petyr keep climbing on top of me?” 

She watched with no little amount of satisfaction as Petyr winced in her periphery. Before either man could say anything else, she continued, “Look, it’s like this. I need time and space. It’s not going to make  _ us _ look bad, it’s going to make  _ Petyr _ look bad.” Sansa shot a glance to Jon, who was also looking uncomfortable with her harsh words. “Which, as you can imagine, being that I have a little brother in the hospital fighting for his life, I couldn’t be bothered about.”

“Have you heard from Cersei?” Varys took her off guard. 

She hadn’t. 

Varys continued, “If she hasn’t spoken to you, as Jaime hasn’t spoken to us, it’s entirely possible that despite our efforts, they suspect us.” 

He wasn’t wrong, but he also had no evidence to prove that he was right either. Sansa blinked, “They lost their child. It’s not unreasonable to think they may not be up for golf and shopping just three days after.” 

“You don’t believe that,” Petyr pressed. 

“I believe you’re trying to get me back by any means necessary--”

“Yes.” At least he was honest, _ this time _ .

She took a breath, willing self-control. “Because we have children together, I have done my part to make sure you do not face the full consequences of your actions.”

“What does that mean?” Petyr’s brow furrowed. 

“You broke a pact with the Reeds,” Sansa explained. 

He waved a hand dismissively, “Oh, the Reeds.” 

“They may not be as big as the Lannisters, but you well know that it is families like the Reeds, and the Royces that give us our position. It’s wise not to cross them.” Sansa couldn’t believe she was explaining this to him. In the earlier years of their marriage, he was the one who urged her to take care to respect the families that empowered them. 

Something in what she said had him leaning forward, a look of pure delight on his face. “You covered for me with the Reeds?”

Sansa stood silent. 

He repeated, “You covered for me?” 

“Elenei!” Sansa waved her to come through the glass, frantic to interrupt Petyr’s hope. 

Ros looked up, waiting for approval from either Petyr or Varys, but it was too late. Elenei burst through the door and bounded towards her. She crashed into Sansa’s legs with enough force to make her stagger back a step. “ _ Mum! _ ”

Sansa ran her hand over her head, feeling tears gather in her eyes. She blinked furiously as she smiled down at her daughter, “Hey, sweetheart!” 

“I hated waiting. Ros made me wait. It was stupid,” Elenei complained into her skirt. 

“Hey, Sansa,” Ros gave her a sheepish look. She was carrying Durran, and Sansa wanted nothing more than to slice her open for playing stand-in while she was away. 

Sansa reached for him, greedily, snatching him away from Ros harder than she intended. Her reply was stiff, “ _ Ros _ .”

Secretly, she was grateful that it was Ros looking after the children. She was great with them whenever they visited Petyr at Unveiled--through the back entrance only, with a call ahead for all the girls to robe up. Sansa felt some degree of closeness to the hostess, too. It was just wretched to have any woman other than herself cradling her son, and she couldn’t help the green monster of jealousy that immerged. 

She snuggled into the smell of her baby so quickly she almost forgot she was standing in the middle of a warehouse with an audience. She cooed to him, “Hey, little man, mummy’s missed you so much!” She kissed up one side of his face and down the other, speaking in between kisses, “How have you gotten so big already? Huh? So grown up, so handsome!”

Elenei pouted at her side, “I’ve gotten bigger too!” 

Sansa blinked more tears back, and crouched down, which in a pencil skirt was no small feat. “Yes you have, haven’t you?” She ran her hand over her daughter’s hair. “Did your hair get longer?” It had been three days, so it was absurd to think it, but she couldn’t help that everything about her children felt somehow bigger, more mature. 

“No,” Elenei laughed. 

“Hmm, I think it did,” Sansa smiled at her. 

Elenei laughed and then exclaimed, “Uncle Jon!” 

Jon smiled from ear to ear and lifted her up when she ran to him. Sansa straightened herself and adjusted Durran on her hip after she kissed his downy soft hair and asked, “Let’s go, shall we?” 

Durran smiled happily and repeated, “Gah-gah-gah.”

They turned back for the car when Elenei shouted, “Stop!”

“What is it?” Sansa stopped. 

“ _ Daddy _ ,” Elenei replied as if it was obvious. 

Sansa reluctantly looked up at the pained expression on Petyr’s face. Her chest tightened, knowing how it felt to be without her children. Her eyes softened toward him as she spoke to Elenei, “Well, go give him a hug.” 

Jon let her down as she ran to Petyr. “Why can’t you come with us?” 

Petyr gave her a smile that didn’t touch his eyes as he said, “Because Daddy has to keep working, princess.” He crouched down and scooped her up in his arms, his eyes closing over her shoulder as he tried to sound less affected than he was. “I hear the hotel has a pool. Be sure to order lots of room service and tell Uncle Bran that Daddy hopes he feels better.” 

Sansa felt a lump grow in her throat as she hugged Durran tighter to her. Elenei’s tearful voice answered, “I will.”

Petyr kissed the side of her head and smoothed her hair down her back once more before he stood up. “Go on ahead, now.”

Elenei wiped her eyes and turned away. Jon took a quick step forward, and held her hand in his, comforting her in his silent way as they walked to the car. Petyr’s eyes pled with Sansa. She knew it was for her to change her mind, to forget all her hurt and go home with him. 

She simply couldn’t, but what she could do was offer him the chance to hug his son goodbye. “Here,” her voice caught as she took a step forward, holding Durran out to him. 

Instead of reaching for him, Petyr wrapped his arms around both of them, hugging them tightly. Durran squirmed in between them, smiling and smacking at their chins. Sansa’s eyes bulged in surprise at the sudden gesture and she stuttered, unsure of how to react. Petyr kissed Durran’s head and whispered to Sansa, “You can’t tell me that this doesn’t feel right.” 

She swallowed, looking over her shoulder to Varys and Ros, their faces lifted in hope. It would be so easy to just nod her head and admit it. Petyr would breathe easy and pull them to his car, gesturing for Elenei to follow. They would go home and Petyr would have someone occupy the children as he worshipped her body, and it’d all be a horrible nightmare. 

Except that Bran would still be paralyzed in a coma. Her husband would have still betrayed her, and after having gotten off scot-free, he would be more likely to do so again. Their marriage wouldn’t be the same, and he was a fool to think it would. Varys and Ros could root for them all they wanted, but Sansa knew how it would play out. He showed no remorse for his trespasses, and if she were being honest with herself, she was in no way ready to forgive him for them. She hardened her voice as she replied over his shoulder, “It doesn’t.” 

He brought his hand to Durran’s back, rubbing it as he pulled away from her. He brightened his voice and his expression towards his son as he addressed her, “You’re lying.” 

“Not even a little,” she insisted. Durran started to frown and fuss in her arms. She bristled, “Don’t waste the limited time you have with him trying to get at me.” 

Petyr inhaled and then plastered a smile on his face. “You’re right. I shouldn’t try so hard. You’ll come home to me.”

“If I remember correctly, you said that the last time I rejected you.” Sansa made it a point to glance at Elenei in the car before she added, “I’d say you’ve been wrong so far.” 

“You covered for me. You care about me. You’re going to come back to me.” He flashed her a victorious grin, “I have faith.” 

Sansa’s smile was as acerbic as her response, “It’s funny, the more certain you are that I’ll return, the more certain I become that I won’t.”

She turned and strode towards the car, silently coaching herself,  _ don’t run, don’t run, don’t run. _

“Brune!” Petyr called behind her. 

He came out of the shadows, as was entirely characteristic of the police sergeant turned henchman. Sansa handed Durran to Jon and whipped around, “What are you doing?” 

Petyr smiled, “Brune will be accompanying you.” 

“And you think I’ll just allow that?”

“I want to ensure that my children are safe. Hotels are hardly secure. Brune will stand bodyguard to you and the children.” Petyr spoke as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world that he was proposing, and perhaps it was. 

How secure was the hotel? She had no protection there aside from the lock on her door, a lock Petyr had shown her so quickly and easily could be disabled. She had gotten Jon and Ygritte the adjoining hotel room so that they wouldn’t have to return to their pool house home, something she knew Ygritte used as ammunition against Jon to get their own personal space away from the family. Having Brune on hand wouldn’t be the worst idea, but she couldn’t trust anyone on Petyr’s payroll. She shook her head, “No way in hell, Petyr.” 

Brune ignored her, approaching the passenger side of the car. She fumed, “ _ Jon! _ ”

Jon caught Brune by the wrist, and held a knife to his side in warning to back off. Brune froze for just a moment before he spun around quickly, deflecting the blade and pulling his gun. 

“That’s enough!” Petyr hollered. He clearly had not expected Sansa to protest to the degree that she did. In truth, she hadn’t either.

Brune holstered his weapon, held his hands in front of him and stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge Jon still holding the blade beside him. He was a good hire, quick to heel.  

Petyr turned to Sansa, “Don’t fight this, it’s for protection. Just let him keep watch over you and the kids; it would make me feel better.” 

“He just pulled a gun on my cousin, in front of our daughter,” Sansa gestured to the car where Elenei had unbuckled herself and rolled the window down, cheering her Uncle Jon on.

“She’s seen guns before,” Petyr waved her excuse off. “And you know Brune wouldn’t kill Jon, especially not in front of the kids. He likes Jon, and he doesn’t mind the kids, do you Brune?” 

Brune’s head turned from side to side. 

Sansa scoffed, “What is wrong with you?” 

Petyr’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes were cagey. She looked over at Varys and Ros, who were giving her a look that screamed,  _ See? _

See what exactly? That Petyr wasn’t his usual careful self? What did they want her to do about it? Just bow down and come home, to someone who royally screwed up, refused to apologize for it, and whose rationality was slowly unraveling. No. If anything, that was more reason for her to stay away. She cleared her throat, “He’s your man Petyr. If I wanted to surround myself with people loyal to you, I wouldn’t have left the house.” 

“Oh, then we’re agreed? You’re coming home?” Petyr jumped at the opportunity to throw that in there. He really wasn’t himself if he was going to continue at this rate, sloppier and sloppier in his attempt to sway her. It wasn’t cute or funny, but it was very telling. At the beginning of their meeting he was smoother, sneakier, but as the time had passed, he became rougher and less coordinated. Was she weakening him? 

They used to make each other stronger.

Sansa turned back to the car and handed Durran to Jon, who quickly buckled him into his car seat. Petyr appealed to her again. “If anything, Brune’s more your man. You saved his life after all.” Then he glanced from Jon to Brune and added, “You of all people know how it goes. Save a man’s life and he’s loyal to you for the rest of it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jon’s different. Brune’s loyal to the man who pays him.  _ You _ pay him.” 

“ _ We _ pay him, and  _ you _ need protection,” Petyr insisted. “Especially when it becomes more obvious that we’re sleeping in separate beds.” 

“Under separate roofs,” she added for emphasis, watching for any microexpression he might show over it. “I’ll figure it out.” 

Jon shut Durran’s door and stood by Sansa’s side. His hands flew up as he told Petyr that he would protect Sansa and the kids for the time being. She eyed him suspiciously. Petyr asked what she was thinking, “That won’t cause problems with Ygritte?” 

She could have kissed Jon for his quick response, which was to say that Ygritte was already unimpressed by being displaced and as Petyr pointed out so poignantly, Jon was loyal to Sansa for life. He would see her and the children safe. 

After a brief pause, Petyr nodded his agreement and snapped his fingers for Brune to step away from the car. Sansa kept her eyes on his as she and Jon slowly backed away, trying to shake the feeling that they were escaping. 

It wasn’t until a couple of miles down the road that Sansa finally felt her breathing return to normal. Was this how it was always going to be? Up and down. She’d seen him twice in three days, and each time his impact on her was overwhelming. He needed to understand that she was serious, that this was not something that would just go away. She thought of how he had responded to her passion, even when it was hateful, and resolved to stop revealing so much of herself to him. It only fed his energy and belief that she would forgive him and come running home.

If she ever planned to, she needed him to stop living in denial and take some accountability. Only then could they work together to repair their relationship. The only way to get through to Petyr was to face him with complete and utter dispassion, no more mixed messages, no more allowing him to affect her so. 

If he no longer had the ability to turn her on or piss her off, he’d be forced to take a hard look at himself. Perhaps through that forced self-reflection, he’d finally see what he needed to do. Elenei’s voice filled the car as Sansa smiled back at her and little Durran, silently promising to be stronger for them. 

 


	6. Prove It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You won’t give me time or space, so I’ll take it.

The cracked stucco and faded lettering above the door only validated Petyr’s automatic distaste for this cafe. It was nothing like Highgarden, and it was hard to believe that she would settle for this place just to evade him. She couldn’t move a muscle without him knowing; at this point, he was surprised that she would even try. After seven years together, she had to know better. That didn’t stop her from making so many changes, going out of her way to avoid him. Memory of the day she ran from him surfaced and he felt both simultaneously proud of how quickly he tracked her and upset that she took such measures. It hurt to see his beautiful wife practically willing to cut her own arm off just to get away from him.

She was reasonable about the children, at least, ensuring that their time was equally divided. He knew an average man would be appreciative, but he wasn’t. What was fifty-fifty, when he knew what it felt like to have it all? He had experienced the pleasure of life as both a father and a husband. He would tuck his children in each night, and then climb into his own bed where his young wife lay naked, waiting for him. She would hold him to her breast and run her fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead. His hand would settle between her legs, gripping her thigh, all the while they shared the stories of their day, before sleep took them.  

How could he ever feel satisfied with anything less? Whatever mistakes he’d made, Sansa was still his wife. They shared vows that were forever, so he refused to believe that they wouldn’t reconcile. 

His heart sped up when he watched her step out of the black town car and approach the door to the coffee shop. He knew she would be alone, Elenei was in preschool and any one of the Starks would be snuggling baby Durran while she went on a coffee run. The hospital cafeteria had coffee, but he knew she wanted a reprieve from the fluorescent lights and smell of disinfectant that surrounded the unwell. 

Petyr’s eyes traveled the outline of her body, admiring what she had been keeping from him. Her dress complimented her curves, as if she’d had it tailored to them. He told himself to stop thinking about her body, but he couldn’t help himself. Touching and feeling was so intertwined in everything they did together, it was strange-- _ wrong _ for his thoughts not to drift where they’d both been most comfortable. With not a hair out of place, she walked at a determined pace in her heels. He recognized them as the brown leather ones that she wore when she needed comfort, but still wanted to look good.  Who did she want to look good for? There was so much of her he didn’t have any access to, and it had been steadily eating at him. 

Once she was inside, he pulled up the camera feed on his phone. He had paid good money for access to the security cameras, and when he watched her approach the counter and eye the barista, he knew it was worth it. Her suspicious expression was no doubt due to the man asking if her name was Sansa. She wouldn’t expect to be known by name here, only ever having been there the day before, on her way to Bran’s bedside. When she confirmed her identity, Petyr watched the man reach behind the counter and pull out a freshly poured cup of coffee, just how she took it. Sansa opened her purse to pay, only to be waved off. Petyr spied the man point at the cup in her hand, asking her to read it. 

The camera couldn’t zoom in enough to catch the words. That was alright, Petyr gleefully remembered what he wrote:  _ I’ll always find you. _

He watched with anticipation as she turned the cup in her hand to read the words herself. Quickly, she turned around, scanning the coffee shop. She wouldn’t find him inside, though of course, he was nearby. His pulse beat in his ears as he watched her head turn back, showing her face clearly for the camera. Petyr squinted down at his phone, her expression too good to be true. There was no denying the grin she wore as she searched for him. 

Petyr’s cheeks hurt, smiling to match her, realizing that  _ she wanted to be found!  _ Oh, his queen might have left him and walked out on their kingdom, but she clearly still appreciated his attention. There was still hope; he knew it.  

Elation blurred his focus and he almost didn’t catch her walking back to the car. He crammed the phone in his pocket, barely able to contain himself in his excitement. She had already gotten in, and Petyr was thankful that the busy city street made pulling out into traffic difficult, halting any movement. Without hesitation, he let himself in the car, and sat down beside her as casually and comfortably as if it were any other car ride together.  

He could tell that she was startled by his sudden presence, and his entitlement at being there, but refused to let that on. He admired her fortitude. She handed him the coffee and sighed as she said, “You need to stop this, Petyr.”  

“No.” He grinned at her and shook his head. “You want to return to me.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “I believe I’ve been pretty clear that I don’t.” 

Petyr set the coffee down in the car’s cupholder, knowing she would want it later, even if her ego wouldn’t allow her to accept it in front of him. He used his free hands to reach for hers, pleased to note that the struggle she put up was mild and short-lived. He let his thumbs work her palm, massaging her hand with an innate certainty. He knew that her smiling over a cup was flimsy reason to share at best. She would shoot it out of the water if he mentioned it, so instead, he looked down at their joined hands as he said, “I realize that you’re worried for your brother, and that may have clouded your judgement concerning us. I can not fault you for being human.” 

She stared blankly back at him. Where was her passion? Petyr was touching her, stroking her, cooing into her. He was aligning with her, excusing her rash behavior, and her only response was a flat affect? He soldiered on through the disappointment he felt, “It has been six days--”

“I’m aware. You get the kids tonight, assuming that’s what’s prompted this _ chance  _ encounter.” She had started so monotone, but the inflection on the end gave her message some feeling.

Feeling was good. He could work with feeling. All he needed was a foothold, something to get her reacting- _ -responding _ . Bran was a sore subject, certainly. Petyr hadn’t even begun to consider his own feelings on the matter, so caught up in Sansa’s leaving. He pushed further to rattle her; it felt good knowing she cared. “Grief can take many forms, and is coped with in many different--”

“Get to the point,” her jaw tightened.

He stifled a grin. Her growing irritation was definitely encouraging. He bit the inside of his cheek as he said, “I can’t help but notice that you’re not fucking anyone.”

A flurry of emotions flashed across her face, most recognizable of them was outrage. He felt his heart beat faster, excited over all the possible emotional responses she might give him. His wife was still very much his, even if she wanted to take a little vacation away and pretend otherwise. Finally, she gained control of her internal explosions and narrowed her eyes as she quipped, “Yet.”

“ _ Ever _ .”  His response was automatic and sharper than he meant. Her eyes widened and her lips pursed at him. In their seven years together he had rarely ever directed such ferocity at her, and it unnerved him to do so. He turned her hand over, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. “Sansa, it’s been six days.”

“So you’ve said.” Her tone was cold and impatient, but her gaze gave her away.  She was watching him intently as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.  

Her eyes closed for a fraction of a second too long, and Petyr smirked triumphantly. “However we feel, surely we can work on it at home.”  

“I told you I wanted time and space.” She raised her chin, staying strong in her clear resolve to appear unaffected. That may have worked, except that she was very much affected at the warehouse. She enjoyed the kiss he forced out of her, and the soft sounds she mewled into him only made her feelings that much more undeniable.

Petyr had played by her rules-- _ mostly. _ He hadn’t called her on either of her numbers, though it killed him sometimes not to. He kept a close eye on her of course, had his men following her, reporting back her every movement. Though Varys discouraged it, Petyr directed him to case the hotel for potential camera placements in the room. The nights were lonely without Sansa, and if he couldn’t touch her, he would watch her sleep. He would watch other things as well, if she did them. Part of him hoped she would, and wondered if she would whimper his name as she did. He made a mental note to insist on audio hookups.

It was on this lusty thought that Petyr inched closer to her. “I disagree. You don’t need space. Time, maybe. But not space.” He deepened his voice, tickling her ear with it as he continued to explain, “It’s our feelings for each other that will get us through this together.” She turned her face away, pulling her ear from his lips. That didn’t deter him, however, from pulling their hands into his lap, letting her feel what grew there. “You need to feel my affection for you.”  

She rolled her eyes and scoffed at the growing erection nestled in her palm. “I don’t give two shits about your boner, Petyr.” 

Her tone was mean, her expression cold. If Petyr were anyone else, he might think to take her seriously, except that he was more observant than that. While Sansa worked hard to project an air of disinterest, if not complete disdain, unfortunately for her, she’d forgotten entirely about the palm she wasn’t pulling away or the legs that had suddenly uncrossed. He licked his lips, feeling the familiar ache that grew for her alone as he realized her body’s subconscious response to him. He privately thanked her passion for confusing her fury with a dose of arousal. He leaned in further, feeling her shoulder against his chest, pressing into the scar he wore for her, as he whispered into her neck, “You need me to touch you, cherish you.”   

If he hadn’t been so near to her, he might not have noticed the slight shiver that ran through her body. That same shiver ran through him. After such cold treatment, it was extremely gratifying to see his effect on her. Her voice was a little breathy as she countered, “What makes you think that I need you for that?” She cleared her throat, “Have you ever consider that maybe, the partner doesn't matter? I just love to fuck.”  

“Me.” Petyr brought his other hand to her cheek, turning her to look at him. He knew she was bluffing to upset him, make him retreat, and he refused to fall for it. “You only love to fuck  _ me _ , Sansa. You know it, and I know it. Because I feel the same about you. There is no room for anyone else. Not from the moment we laid eyes on each other. There won’t be a single person on this planet that can give us what we have given each other, not now, not until the day we die.”  

Her eyes dilated, disarmed by the truth in his words. Her affection only lasted milliseconds before her pupils constricted, hardening into a harsh glare. He wondered if she was angry because she wished there was someone else out there for them. It would certainly make her walking away from him easier for her. Petyr shook that insecurity away, knowing it wasn’t valid. It also wouldn’t due to boast a conviction he didn’t truly have. Her words were slow and deliberate, “You won’t give me time or space, so I’ll take it.  _ I give up _ .” 

“Excellent. I’ll send Brune for your things.” 

Petyr’s grin faded when she explained her meaning, “Perhaps I need to prove to you that I’m serious. Is that what I should do? Prove it to you?”

He let go of her face, but would not relinquish his tightening grip on her hand as he warned her, “You won’t like what happens if you do.”

She offered a sick smile, “I don’t care who you kill, Petyr. I’ll have already gotten my-- _ fill. _ ”

Petyr pushed forward, almost snarling as he captured her lips. She resisted, trying to reel back, but was trapped against the back window. Her hands pushed against him as she protested, her gasp swallowed by his possessive growl. 

Something inside her changed, a switch flipped, and she suddenly started returning his kiss with a ferocity meant to hurt. Her hands stopped pushing and started pulling as she opened her mouth wider to him. Their kiss was messy and mean, lips bruising, teeth clashing, tongues claiming. On instinct, his hand grabbed at her breast, palming and massaging it in a frenzy, unable to show the restraint he did at the warehouse. He felt her hardened nipple through the material of her dress, and at her moan, loud in his mouth, rubbed his thumb back and forth over it, determined to make something of it. 

When he’d let himself in her car, it was with the intention to crack her facade of indifference. Judging by the way she was reciprocating, he had definitely done that. He had also lost his own control, pawing at her like a beast, desperate to feel the way they used to. This was not what he intended at all, and he would feel some level of shame in his behavior if he wasn’t so dopamine drunk. It required great focus for him to restrain himself, sliding his hand up to her neck, and away from the ample breast he’d been enjoying. He hovered over her pulse for a moment, before he reached higher to hold her cheek again.  

When Petyr felt her knee touch his, he slowly pulled out of their kiss, knowing he’d successfully proven his point. Being right always helped him feel in control. Sansa blinked out of the oxytocin haze that overtook her. His smirk was smug as he spoke, “If you really don’t want me, then you should tell your body that.” He looked down, knowing she was following his gaze to her legs spread and angled towards him.  

Sansa scowled and snapped them shut, sitting back in her seat. Her hands yanked away from hm and started smoothing her hair behind her ears. She was caught and there was no denying it. The amusement left Petyr’s face, as he leaned in to steal the opportunity of her vulnerability, “I want you home.”  

“That’s not an option, Petyr. Move on. I plan to.” Sansa inched away from him and closer to the door.

“Why Sansa? You want me too! I know you do.”

Sansa lost all emotion in her voice as she refused to acknowledge his question, “Jon and Ygritte will bring the kids by for dinner tonight.” 

“Jon and Ygritte? Really?” She was having the children delivered to him so that she wouldn’t have to step foot in their house, which she hadn’t returned to since the day she left. Petyr fantasized about luring her there, locking them all in together, until they became one big happy family again.

She turned to face him, cocking an eyebrow. “Would you prefer Arya?”

“I would prefer you.” Petyr knew what he wanted didn’t matter, but put words to it anyway.  

Sansa sighed, exhaustion evident in her eyes. “It’s over, Petyr.”

“No.” Petyr gripped the door handle, “It’s really not.” He watched her close her eyes and lower her head--in disappointment or resignation, he did not know. She offered no response, not even when he finally opened the door and left her to drive away.

His eye twitched as he thought of her writhing against another man. The primal part of him raged to possess her and destroy any possibility that she may not be completely his anymore. The more rational side of him thought of the bigger picture. She had pulled away from him on every level, gently at first, though more severely as time went on. Petyr walked to his car, scarcely aware of the world around him. 

It had been six days--no seven, actually. Petyr realized that she’d gone for a completely equal division, passing the children in the middle of the fourth day, bringing the tally to three _ and a half  _ days with each of them. To anyone else that may have been miniscule, however, for the Baelishes and the life they lead, it was a substantial amount of time. They had a family to run, and the Lannisters to figure out. Such silence from them was unheard of. 

For the briefest of moments Petyr tried to imagine if it was Elenei in a body bag instead of Tommen, and his blood ran cold. There would be no end to the suffering he would inflict if his princess had ceased to breathe. Surely Jaime and Cersei would respond similarly, looking for blame. The idea that they were stuck at the morgue crying over a corpse would be ludicrous if Petyr hadn’t had it confirmed from his own people. Except for Tyrion, of course. The Lannister right had been meeting with an untraceable black car. Twice in five days. 

Had Sansa checked into that? If she were truly proposing such a severe separation as she had in the car, she would be looking for autonomy. Sansa would have started rallying the north to break apart from his eastern territory, and used her loyal following to investigate the Lannisters. Recuperating brother or not, Varys was right, they had a business to run. If Sansa wanted to go it alone, she needed to be sure of her hold. 

There had been no evidence, however, that she was doing anything of that nature. There had also been no evidence that she hadn’t, other than he hadn’t seen her meet with any of her northern families. All reports indicated that she had been splitting her time between the hotel and the hospital. 

It was encouraging to see her ignore the business side to things. Either she meant no real separation, counting on him to manage things as a wife could of a husband. Or, she was too distracted to offer an effective rule. If that were the case, her failure would only ease the way for him to slide back into place and assist her. If it had to start as a professional relationship, he was fine with that, so long as it progressed back to what it had been before.

Her body had responded to him, even if she hadn’t meant for it to. Still, subconscious or not, she wouldn’t have allowed a response if she completely loathed him as much as she pretended. He knew that touching was the way to reach her, struggle against it as she might. Petyr knew his wife, having studied her so avidly for so long. He knew he shouldn’t be as assured of her feelings for him, but he couldn’t help the overriding desire that this was all just a bump in the road. 

Varys hinted on more than one occasion that he was in denial. What did Varys know? Certainly not Sansa. Not like Petyr did, anyway. Sansa would slice him up with her words as she gave him her body. It was the perfect contradiction and everything Petyr craved. He needed her back. 

In order to have that, he needed to know her next move. She would confide in Jon, obviously. She did after every difficult interaction between them for the past seven years, of course she would now. Petyr hoped the loyal cousin would maintain a more neutral stance as was typical for him. He had no idea how the rest of the Starks would counsel her, but he imagined that it wasn’t in his favor. Wasn’t that just the way of families, though? Petyr had been through enough failed foster placements to understand it was about seniority. The newest addition always got tossed out first. 

A terrible thought crept into his head and he felt his stomach turn. What if she decided the best way to get over him was to, in fact, actually  _ move on _ ? His fingers were dialing before he could stop them. Varys had barely answered when Petyr started assaulting him with questions, “Did we get those cameras set up? How many men do we have following Sansa?” In the past, Petyr used software to tap her phone, but it was since quite dated and without maintenance and upgrades, it had stopped working a couple years prior. Audio had always been harder to maintain than visual. Luckily, the cameras in their home still worked. Petyr could have asked Rickon for help, but thought it’d be tempting fate to continue to use his skills against his own sister. “Any word on her phone record? Who’s she talking to?” 

“Family.” Varys sounded exasperated. 

Petyr furrowed his brow in annoyance. “We have her record?” 

There was a brief silence before Varys answered, “No.” 

“No?” Petyr stepped out of the car when he felt it stop, ignoring his driver’s attempt to open the door for him. “Then how do you know who she’s talking to?” 

Petyr marched through the front door to The Mockingbird, his tone intensifying as he spoke into the phone. He would not tolerate any less than one hundred percent certainty when it came to the subject of his wife. She was smart and ruthless and required nothing less than his best. Fuck, he missed her. “This is an assumption on your part?” 

“An educated one,” Varys defended, ending the call when he saw Petyr open the door to his office. “Bran’s in a coma; she’s hardly thinking of  _ getting off _ right now.” 

“Watch your mouth,” Petyr warned, his lip curling.

Varys put his phone in his pocket and walked around to the front of his desk. “Rather than focusing on her romantic life, Sansa is more than likely concerned with her brother’s recovery.”

Petyr waved his hand dismissively at him. “You don’t know her like I do. She’s stubborn. She said she was moving on, and I wouldn’t put it past her to find someone to screw just to prove it to me.” 

“Isn’t that assumption?” Varys’ challenged. 

It was hard for Petyr to repeat a fear realized, so he simply flashed Varys a look that dared him to keep doubting him. Varys’ eyes widened and then he shook his head. “People say things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment.” 

“And stubborn people follow through with hasty threats all the time.” A prickling sensation washed over Petyr’s body and he couldn’t help but itch his forearms a bit. “She knows I’ll kill whoever it is.” 

“Then perhaps that will stop her,” Varys tried to reason. 

Petyr’s laugh was sick, “Has it ever before?” 

“That’s not fair to her, Petyr, and you know it.” Varys stance widened. Petyr thought it amusing how his trusted right was already bracing himself for whatever attack may be delivered. “She never went that far, in any of your games.” 

“ _ My _ games?” Petyr pulled his knife, flipping it to stop his hands from scratching himself raw. 

Varys eyed the flash of metal twirling and sliding against itself through the air. “It’s irrelevant. The point I’m trying make is that Sansa never actually sleeps with anyone else. She flirts, she teases, she pretends. She does not follow through. Anyone can see she only wants you.”

“You’re wrong. She wants to be right, probably more than she wants me.” Petyr hated the sound of his own voice questioning her loyalty to him and their marriage.

“And you truly believe that?” Varys asked. 

Before Petyr could answer, he heard a familiar voice call down the hall. “Where is my good friend?” 

Oberyn. 

Varys must have noticed his change in expression because he raised an eyebrow. “Did his visit slip your mind?” 

Petyr shot him a dirty look. 

“That’s been happening a lot lately, hasn’t it?” Varys shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Oberyn’s voice interrupted whatever retort Petyr could craft. “Perhaps another time, I am due to return home to my Ellaria.” 

Petyr lowered his voice, “As soon as Sansa calms down, she’ll come home. My wits will return when she does.”

Varys’ martyred expression lifted instantly as Oberyn walked through the door. Oberyn lifted his arms in welcome as he smiled, “Ah, there you are! I am not late, am I?”

“On time, actually.” Varys beamed at him and then walked around to the back of his desk, picking up some papers Petyr knew were contracts. “I’ve run the numbers and if you can shave off another ten percent, we can add another cargo load each run.” 

“Right to business, I see.” Oberyn stepped further into the office, taking the paper from Varys to look it over. 

“It will increase your distribution by twenty-eight.” Petyr jumped in, going through the motions of their work together. 

Oberyn’s brow furrowed, “Last we talked, it would increase it by _ thirty-three _ .”

Petyr chuckled, “If you had people walking it, yes. You don’t though, not over here.” 

Slowly, the wheels in Oberyn’s head turned and he rolled his eyes, “How much?”

“Kick us thirteen percent on each transaction and we’ll supply them,” Petyr took the paper from his hands, scratching out Varys’ calculations. 

“For thirteen, you’d have to supply more than just the legs,” Oberyn teased, letting his eyes trail over Petyr suggestively. 

Varys cleared his throat. “Then what do you offer?” 

“Eight,” Oberyn shrugged. 

“ _ Eight _ ?” Varys laughed.

Petyr rolled his eyes, “Eight’s not worth the trouble and you know it.” He hazard a glance at Varys, who did well to hide his distress over the low offer. “I’ll go down to eleven, and that’s only out of respect for our friendship.”

It was Oberyn who laughed then. “I will offer you nine, you’ll say no, and then we can meet in the middle at ten. Why not just jump to the middle?”

“Because the offer was eleven,” Varys’ eyes narrowed, supporting Petyr. 

Each man eyed the other, searching for any sign of weakness. Petyr may have gotten along well with Oberyn, but he was not mistaken as to who he was and what he was capable of. He was a solid business man, and a sure shot. In truth, he was way more skilled than Petyr with both his gun and his blade. He’d always been a great ally to have, but as he stood before them now, with Sansa gone and the Lannisters in mourning, Petyr was starting to seriously consider just how great of an ally he’d be. 

Petyr smiled, “Ten it is.”

Varys flicked his gaze at him, clearly sensing he was up to something. 

He was. “On one condition.” 

“Condition?” It was Oberyn who asked it, but Varys looked just as curious. 

Petyr smiled, “Stay.” 

“Stay?” Again, it was Oberyn who asked, though both men’s faces furrowed in question. 

Petyr scribbled a couple of numbers that he knew no one else could make sense of and said, “It will take a couple months for product like this to start moving. Especially from an outside source. So, stay. Be your charming self. I guarantee it will cut the startup time down considerably if you are recognized for your association with me. Just a few weeks.” 

“I’ve been away from Ellaria for over a week already now.” Oberyn looked down at the picture of her on the lock screen of his phone. 

“Send for her,” Varys piped in. Petyr appreciated his willingness to go along with him, not knowing the purpose of this maneuver. 

“You would allow ten and promise me a thirty-three return, as long as I remain here for a few weeks?” Oberyn repeated again. “You are giving up money.” 

Petyr would still profit greatly. “I’m considering it an investment.” 

Oberyn smiled, “I am touched that you would invest so much into our relationship.” 

“You agree?” Varys got to the point. 

Oberyn smiled and closed his eyes as he nodded, “I do.” 

Petyr grinned from ear to ear. “Perfect.” 

“Again you touch me with your enthusiasm,” Oberyn chuckled. 

“I will admit I have a favor to ask of you.” Petyr stepped towards the decanter in Varys’ office, and poured them all a whiskey. Oberyn didn’t inquire, simply watched him, waiting for the proposition. After a couple of sips, Petyr said, “I want you to seduce my wife.” 

Varys coughed on his drink. 

Oberyn’s gulp was audible, the whites of his eyes much more visible than before. After that statement hung in the air for a moment, he offered Petyr a look of remorse. “I have heard that she is unavailable--at her brother’s side. It is a hard thing for a man to go without his woman. Terrible thoughts start to slither through the mind. That is all they are. Terrible thoughts. Sansa is true to you, I’ve seen you together with my own eyes.” 

His speech would have been music to Petyr’s ears if the man knew how broken their relationship currently was. Oberyn didn’t, however, suspecting no real trouble in paradise. Boasting about how loyal Sansa was had been from his observation of her before she walked out on Petyr. His uneducated assumption was far from comforting. Neither was the determined way in which Sansa all but promised she would leave Petyr behind her. 

“Agreed,” Varys voice pulled Petyr’s focus back to the conversation. “Just terrible thoughts.” 

Petyr smiled ruefully. “I wish that were true, but unfortunately it may not be.” He took a sip of his drink, knowing all eyes were on him. “Sansa and I had a bit of a…” Petyr looked for any pain-free way to say it. Disagreement? Argument? Fight? No, this was growing larger than that. Falling out? Break up? No, it wasn’t as bad as that. His heart sank a little as he considered more seriously that it very well may have been. He flicked his gaze back to Oberyn, remembering to maintain his smile, and decided to inject some humor to avoid the feelings that weighed him down. “A lover’s quarrel.” 

He chuckled, and both Varys and Oberyn followed suit. Oberyn volunteered, “It is common enough between two passionate creatures. I would bet you have faced similar times before.” 

“How much would you bet?” Petyr played along, snagging a cigar out of the box on Varys’ desk and handing it to Oberyn, before grabbing himself one. 

Oberyn laughed dismissively, accepting the cigar. Varys’s expression was ease and contentment, as if just another one of the boys making deals in back rooms. There was alarm in his eyes, however, that he could not hide--a  _ warning, _ even. Petyr didn’t need him to wave red flags that he had no intention of heeding. He perched on the edge of Varys’ desk and lit the cigar. “She’s got it in her head that she’s done with me.” 

“That serious?” Oberyn’s smile faded. 

Again, Varys jumped in, laughing, “Women. Who can tell what is serious and not with them? Their hearts are turned for a new pair of shoes.” 

Petyr stifled the fury the felt at how Varys painted Sansa as some fickle gold digger. She was anything but, and anyone who knew her, knew that. His right hand was trying to protect him, save their business partner from discovering the severity of the situation. Petyr had decided that he wouldn’t tell Oberyn everything. More than that, Oberyn wouldn’t use what he learned against him anyway, because of how much money he stood to make from their relationship.

Oberyn laughed, “So buy your woman some shoes!” 

“If only it were that easy!” Petyr exclaimed, chuckling as he puffed his cigar. “I need to gauge how rash she’s become, how impulsive. The favor I ask, is for you to make an advance and come straight to me if she accepts.” 

Oberyn exhaled, his smile hesitant, “Make an advance?” 

Petyr nodded.

“Why me?” Oberyn asked, suddenly uneasy. 

Petyr’s eye twitched as he remembered the way she looked at Oberyn the first night of fashion week, before Stannis marched in and changed everything with his news. Sansa kept her hands on her husband, but he knew that Oberyn’s appeal were not entirely lost on her. It was helpful that she was attracted to the man, but even more helpful that Petyr could say with confidence that Oberyn would behave. 

The man was a notorious lech, parading his open marriage status for everyone to see, fucking anything in sight when the mood hit. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he was an awful choice, but Petyr knew just what strings to pull to keep his dick in his pants. “I’ve heard your powers of seduction are unmatched.” 

Oberyn laughed lightly, “It is well know how dangerous of a thing it is to flirt with Littlefinger’s woman, and you made it quite clear on numerous occasions that you did not tolerate group activities in the bedroom.” 

“Yes, I do have a reputation, it’s true. One I’m proud of,” Petyr smirked. “But, this is different. I know you will not take advantage of the situation.” 

“I won’t?” 

There was an uncomfortable groan coming from Varys’ direction that Petyr ignored as he explained, “I have some information that I would like to share with you in exchange for this favor. Should my wife succumb to your seduction, you will simply retreat and inform me of her weakness. If you choose to instead act inappropriately, I would in turn, choose to keep this information to myself.” 

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “It would have to be very valuable information indeed for me to not only risk your reputation for jealous murder by engaging your wife in the first place, but to then deny myself any opportunity that presents itself to taste _ that particular _ fruit.” 

Petyr fought the twitch in his eye at Oberyn’s expressed attraction to Sansa, and lowered his voice as he said, “It concerns your sister.” 

Oberyn set his glass down, his entire body tightening as all humor left him. “Elia? What do you know? Why haven’t you told me before?”

“It isn’t substantiated. Just whispers Varys brought me.” Petyr raised his glass to Varys, pulling him into the conversation. 

Varys blanched as Oberyn took a step towards him, “Nothing solid, Oberyn.”

“It’s a place to start though, at least,” Petyr insisted. 

Oberyn eyed them both for a moment before he agreed. “Where and when would you have me approach her?” 

“Now.” Petyr knew he was rushing, jumping head first into the situation. He didn’t care, couldn’t care, was completely incapable of caring. He needed to know how serious she was in her threat. “She’ll be at the hospital with her brother.” 

Oberyn’s brow furrowed, disbelief apparent on his face as he said, “Her mind will be on her brother, will it not? It is doubtful that she would be open to--” 

“People use sex to ease their troubles all the time,” Petyr interjected.

“She will not accept me on my first attempt. She loves you too much. And you love monogamy too much for her to disobey it.”

Petyr was growing annoyed with Oberyn’s logic. “She may not accept you the first time, but you have agreed to be here for the next three weeks. I’m certain you value the information I have enough to make an effort, _ repeatedly _ . Starting now.”

Oberyn was out the door as soon as he accepted, leaving Varys and Petyr alone. His right spoke as he collected the glasses, “I’m really starting to worry about you.” 

Petyr snorted. 

“I’m serious.” He didn’t need to say it, Petyr had been seeing it in his eyes for the past couple days. 

“Save your concern, Varys.”

“For what?” He challenged him gently. 

Petyr glanced at the clock on the wall, taking note of the time,  _ 10:56am. _ His voice sounded as if it belonged to another, “For if she accepts him.”

Varys’ face softened as he asked, “Why? Why would you put yourself through this?”

“She’s mine, Varys.”

He nodded. 

“She won’t want him. I know it. She’ll reject him and return to me.” Petyr watched the clock change to 10:57am. “When he calls it will be to tell me she turned him away.” 

“What can I do?” Varys asked, his eyes pleading with Petyr to be helpful. 

“Find anything else you can about Elia Martell. Any detail, no matter how small could be dangled over his head. And assign a detail to him specifically.” Petyr would take no chances when it concerned his wife’s fidelity. He was sure Oberyn would follow the rules, knowing what was hanging in the balance, but he still respected the man’s rather lascivious reputation. It simply made sense to have him followed.

Varys pulled his phone out of his pocket and started making calls. Petyr walked toward his own office at the bar, taking note of how abandoned it looked. He was rarely ever at Unveiled or The Mockingbird since buying a dedicated office space a few years back. He glanced up at the clock on the wall,  _ 11:03am. _ It was going to be one of the longer days of his life, he was sure of it. 

He stood directionless, unsure of where to go next. What work was there to be accomplished? What work would he actually get done while he waited to hear whether or not his wife would hop on the first available cock that presented itself? His phone buzzed with a message from Varys telling him that the cameras were being installed in Sansa’s hotel room. He would have laughed at how cowardly it was of Varys to text him when he was so close in proximity, but he knew the man had been the most direct he’d ever been. He decided to let it go and pulled open his banking app to transfer funds, only to have a large red error message pop up. It read,  _ Insufficient funds. _

Petyr swore under his breath. No way were there insufficient funds. Even if Sansa wanted to drain the account, the bank would require multiple days to come up with cash they would need to pay out. He closed the app and opened the next bank account, only to see the same red error message. The same with the next. Quickly he dialed each bank and they confirmed what they saw in their computer database, which was that Petyr Baelish was broke. 

Suddenly his phone started ringing, Rickon’s image prominently displayed on the screen. He hadn’t expected Rickon to reach out to him, as no other Stark had. When Petyr first started dating Sansa, he told her that he accepted her responsibility over the boys, and in doing so had accepted his own level of responsibility for them. They wouldn’t be in the predicament they were in if Petyr hadn’t honored his responsibilities regarding Bran. By rights, he should have been wary of a call from a Stark, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help but grin when he answered, “Hello, Rickon.” 

A similar greeting was not returned. Rickon’s voice was angry as he demanded, “Stay away from Sansa.” 

That hurt. Moreso because it was a surprise. Rickon was reasonable like Jon, he wouldn’t jump into the fray so quickly, unless he felt it warranted. Petyr was divided between a sense of betrayal from Rickon for turning on him, and a sense of pride in that he would stand up for his big sister. So long Rickon had been a dependent, and now he was becoming quite the young man. “Marriages are complicated, Rickon. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“She says she doesn’t want you anymore, and you’re just upsetting her every time you see her.” The edge in Rickon’s voice dulled as he explained. 

Petyr paced his office a bit, talking like this was more difficult than he had expected. “Couples argue. That’s never comfortable. I’m sure she is upset. I’m upset, too. It’s natural.” Though Rickon was his brother-in-law, he often times felt like he was a son to him, and often times talked to him as such. He explained the separation as he would to his own child. 

Anxiety prickled through him, suddenly thinking of Elenei. What did she know? Sansa hadn’t told her anything, he was sure of it. She played along in the warehouse to protect their children from such upsetting truths. She wouldn’t be having this conversation with Elenei without him. Sansa had always been fair in regards to the children, that was proof enough. 

There was a slight huff on the other end. “Yeah, I get that. It’s just, she said it was over, you know? So, you gotta stop.”

Petyr raked his fingers through his hair. “Did she tell you it was over?” 

“Yeah. All of us. This morning when she came back from coffee.”

His jaw tightened. “An hour ago.” 

“More like two,” Rickon corrected. 

Petyr looked up at the clock quickly, seeing that it was 12:01pm. Where had the time gone? It was a little jarring to find it escaping him so easily and so often. Why hadn’t Oberyn sent him a message yet? He took a deep breath and reminded himself that it was unreasonable to expect an update so soon. “I would have thought it might have taken her a little longer to make such an announcement.” 

“She was upset when she got back to the hospital, and we pulled it out of her. But it doesn’t matter, Petyr.” Rickon swallowed audibly and steeled his voice before continuing, “You won’t listen to her, so I froze your accounts to make you listen.” 

Petyr blinked, a couple of times. Then he coughed a surprised laugh, “She allowed this?” 

“She doesn’t know,” Rickon admitted. 

Brilliant. Not only was Rickon screwing over Littlefinger, but he was going behind Sansa’s back too, pissing off two bosses with the click of a mouse. Petyr laughed again, “Oh, Rickon. Do you realize what game you’re playing? Sansa doesn’t tolerate people working around her.” 

“You would know,” Rickon’s attempt at bravery was foiled by the waver in his voice.

Petyr grit his teeth, “And I don’t tolerate being stolen from.” 

“Not stolen.  _ Frozen _ . Only to get your attention,” Rickon was quick to clarify. 

“People who touch my money, aren’t able to touch anything ever again after,” Petyr warned. 

“All due respect, she left you because you allowed harm to come to one brother. What do you think she’d do if you purposely harmed another?” Rickon suddenly sounded much too old for his age. 

Petyr sighed. In truth, he didn’t want to hurt Rickon at all. Despite the circumstances surrounding the call, he was enjoying their conversation. It was hard not to feel proud of him, and talking to Rickon had always been enjoyable. Petyr played his words back in his head, and realized something. There was no malice in the youngest Stark’s voice when he mentioned Bran. “You’re not angry with me.” 

“Um, yeah, I am.” Rickon answered as if Petyr were stupid to think otherwise. “I want you to stop upsetting Sansa.” 

“Yes,” Petyr smiled. “But you’re not angry with me about Bran.” 

The phone went silent. 

Petyr pushed on, “You always look out for Bran, don’t you? Always makes sure he’s taken care of. And you, out of all of them, aren’t upset with me about what happened.” 

“No,” Rickon admitted, reluctantly. “Bran knew the rules. He knew what he was doing when he asked you for help.” 

“So, it’s entirely his fault? I am blameless?”

Rickon sighed, “No. But it makes perfect sense what happened. You like Bran the most of all of us because he needs you more. You need to be needed. He gave you that chance, and you couldn’t stop yourself.” 

Petyr felt as if he was being compared to a conditioned dog, as if he had no control over himself. “Glad to hear I’m so predictable.” 

“We know your buttons, Petyr. Just as you know ours. That’s family.” How did Rickon get so wise?

“How is it that you feel you have such a firm grasp of the situation, and my own wife doesn’t?” Petyr tried to stifle the irritation that grew in his voice. 

“We have different expectations. Sansa expects you to control that impulse for her. She should have come first, above your need to be needed.” He reasoned over the phone, “You didn’t meet her expectation, and it made her feel betrayed.” When had Rickon taken on the role of translator to Sansa?

“ _ Betrayed _ ?” Petyr shook his head as if Rickon could see him. “That’s bullshit.”

He could hear Rickon clear his throat. “Let me ask you this, Petyr: Have you once thought of Bran?” 

“I send flowers every day!” Petyr shot back. “I don’t visit because if I did, the wolves would circle me.” 

Rickon chuckled, “You’re right about that.” 

“Then what do you want me to do?” Petyr found himself smiling a little, however leery.

“Usually, when people screw up, they try to make amends.” 

Petyr was confused. “You just said that you didn’t fault me for what happened.”

Rickon groaned, “No. I said I understood why and that I’m not angry--not that you didn’t share fault.” Petyr could hear a beeping sound on Rickon’s end of the call. “Here, money’s mobile again. Whatever you do, please just respect her wishes. If she wants to be left alone, leave her alone.” 

“ _ Seven years _ ,” Petyr’s voice broke a little. “How am I supposed to just walk away?” How did she? When Petyr woke up that morning, he still held the firm belief that they would be fine, Sansa would come to her senses and she’d be back in their bed soon enough. Now he was starting to seriously consider the possibility that it wasn’t as simple as all that, and it terrified him. 

“I don’t know. It’s not something I can help you with.” There was a note of compassion in Rickon’s voice that Petyr actually appreciated. “When I screw up, I start thinking about what the other person needs more than what I do. I’d start there if I were you.”

There was another long silence as Petyr’s voice caught. Rickon spoke up, “Bye, Petyr.” 

Petyr clutched the phone, genuinely hoping that it wasn’t the last time he’d ever talk to the brave little Stark. It had been a privilege to see him mature over the years. Petyr grabbed a bottle of bourbon that he kept on hand and fell back onto his couch with it, for the first time really considering what it would be like to spend Christmas alone. 

Hours passed, and the bottle drained. Bourbon burned him better than Varys’ whiskey and it was easy to pour drink after drink. 

Varys stood in the doorway. “I had hoped we wouldn’t have a repeat of history.”

“Hmm?” Petyr looked up, his movements sluggish.

Varys reached for the empty bottle on the side table. “The last time Sansa left you, you were on a four day bender.”

“That was years ago, and I kicked her out!” Petyr didn’t know why he felt it so important to set the record straight.

“Yes, and things are different this time,” Varys reminded him, as if he could forget. “There are children to think of.” 

“Imply again that I’m not thinking of them,” Petyr threatened, his finger raised to match the menace on his face. 

Varys set the bottle back down quietly. “I believe you are thinking of them now more than ever, and it may lead you down a path less sober.” 

“That’s your concern?” Petyr noticed the words didn’t come out how he wanted them to, and simply hoped inflection alone would give the proper message. 

“The children will be delivered in a couple of hours. I doubt Elenei would appreciate being greeted by a sloppy drunk, and no one wants to take the chance of you passing out while you’re holding Durran.” Varys spoke like the mother hen he’d become. 

Petyr’s lips pursed, “Seems like you found a pair of balls to borrow, daring to insult me like that. Want to run to your office and hide now that you’ve had such an attack of courage?” 

Varys gave him a sad look that felt a lot like pity. Petyr hated people’s sympathy, always had, ever since he was little, standing on display for different potential parents. They would look him over and decide if he was pitiful enough to save, but not too pitiful that they’d be embarrassed calling him  _ son _ . The general consensus had always been that he was beyond saving. 

He stood up, feeling only a little light headed as he did, and straightened himself out. “I can hold my drink, Varys--thank you. I’m done anyway.” 

Varys had just opened his mouth to speak when Petyr’s phone rang. When Petyr saw Oberyn’s icon appear, his fingers twitched hurriedly, sliding to accept the call. “ _ Yes? _ ” 

“Your wife is still yours, my friend,” Oberyn replied with a smile in his voice. 

Relief washed over Petyr, his knees weakening. It was short lived however, as he almost instantly began to doubt the validity of Oberyn’s report. It was too convenient that Sansa would decline him, the answer too favorable. “How did you approach her?” 

“I arrived with flowers, told her Ellaria and I wanted to pay our respects. Her family passed in and out of the room her wounded brother lay. When we were alone, I offered my condolences regarding your relationship.” 

Petyr felt his fist clench. “What did she say?” 

“She appeared surprised at first that I was aware, and then she told me her focus was on her brother.” Oberyn gently added, “As one would expect.” 

“Then what happened?” It killed Petyr to lack the full script. 

“I told her it was understandable, but that she too had needs and that it was unhealthy to overlook oneself for another.” 

The fucking sleaze. Petyr pursed his lips and inhaled through his nostrils, fighting the urge to scream. “Did she agree?” 

“She said nothing.”

“How did she look?” He could read her body if he knew how it moved. 

“Sad, tired, how anyone would look with an injured loved one,” Oberyn spoke dismissively as if the answer was so obvious. He clearly hadn’t been paying attention to much more than her words. 

“Did you take that as your rejection?” Part of Petyr needed him to say that yes, that was the end of it. The idea that he might engage her further infuriated him. The other part of him wanted him to say no, show that she rejected Oberyn even when fully pressed. 

Oberyn sighed, “No.”

Petyr’s heart sank. 

“I told her that she deserved happiness,” Oberyn confessed. “I told her that it doesn’t always have to be marriage that brings it.”

Petyr rubbed his palms on his pants, feeling them itch and burn to snap his neck. He controlled his voice, “Did she understand your meaning?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?” Curiosity ate at Petyr, suddenly so sober from the bender Varys griped about.

There was a pause as Oberyn took time deciding how to phrase his explanation. “I held her hand, and told her that I was not leaving as soon as originally planned. I gave her hand a simple peck of a kiss and told her that if she needed a night’s reprieve from all that troubled her, I would be obliged to give it.” 

Petyr thought his teeth might break from clenching them so hard. He growled out, “And she said?” 

Oberyn laughed, “She’s a smart woman, your wife. She asked me why I thought I could flirt as I was, being a friend of yours.” 

The tension didn’t leave him as he waited for Oberyn to continue. 

“I told her that I’m the better shot, and my resources are not so little that I am left fearing Littlefinger’s wrath.” Oberyn’s voice was playful as he added, “I am not an easily forgotten waiter, flight attendant, or nobody in a bar. I am connected. It’s much harder to kill a connected man, is it not?”

“Mm,” Petyr reluctantly agreed into the phone. He thought of Lancel and consoled himself that just because it wasn’t as easy, didn’t mean it wasn’t possible, and that he hadn’t succeeded at it before. “What did she say to that?”

“She is feisty, your wife,” Oberyn laughed. “She said,  _ You’d be surprised _ . And then she asked me why I would be in the area longer. I told her it was a business arrangement and then she asked for the terms of the arrangement.”

“Did you tell her?” Petyr couldn’t help but notice with no little joy that not only did Oberyn’s report sound accurate to Sansa, but that she had redirected the man away from the subject of a romantic entanglement. 

“I did.” Oberyn’s voice grew serious, “But I must tell you, she was quite displeased.” 

“She was?” That was surprising. Petyr thought the numbers were generous for both parties involved, and couldn’t see what fault she might find in it. 

“She did not appreciate the meeting occurring without her, and took offense to not being included.” Oberyn paused before he added, “She told me that any bargains struck were done so with only your resources and that hers were no longer combined with yours. She then said she wondered if you had considered that when making such a generous offer.” 

He hadn’t. Fuck. “Do not worry yourself over it, Oberyn. My resources are enough.” 

They were, but had he realized that it would just be his money he was playing with, he would have been a bit more vigilant with it. Rickon freezing his account made much more sense now. Petyr had hinted to Sansa that he could stop her money, and rather than panicking over it, she turned the tables on him in warning. Jesus, she was perfect, in every goddamned way. Petyr ached to wrap his arms around her and fuck that beautiful brain of hers again.

“I was not worried. Her words simply made me more thoughtful of our business dealings.” Oberyn’s voice grew careful, “As I assume you have also.” 

A shrewd businessman indeed. Petyr smiled cynically, “I consider all things, Oberyn. You know this.” He didn’t have to look at Varys across the room to be reminded that in this particular instance, he hadn’t been as thoughtful as he boasted. He silently told himself that he was not slipping. He refused to slip. His voice hardened as he asked, “Was that all? How did the conversation end?”

“I told her that what she said was my understanding of the situation as well.” Oberyn chuckled, “She is very expressive, your woman. She rolled her eyes at me and said,  _ Likely. _ Then I told her that I would be happy to do business with her as well--” 

“ _ You what? _ ” Petyr growled. 

It took three heartbeats time before Oberyn replied, “To seduce a woman, you must think as she does, not how you do.”

Petyr was reminded of Rickon’s advice to care about the things that Sansa did. The idea that he was getting similar advice from two wildly different people stunned Petyr a little. He listened to Oberyn continue, “Her concern was with her brother and business. Since my condolences over her brother did not get me far, I moved to business.” 

“And?” Petyr was growing impatient. 

“She offered me thirty-four over your thirty-three,” Oberyn answered with amusement. “She also did not require me to stay as long as you have.” 

“So you took her offer over mine?” Petyr grinned, about to make another offer. 

“No. A deal is a deal.” Oberyn understood the value of a strong working relationship and would not renege. “I will honor our agreement. I accepted her deal  _ in addition _ to ours. They are not, to my understanding, mutually exclusive.” 

Petyr bit back a laugh. Oberyn would be making a hefty penny off of Petyr and Sansa’s domestic issues. “Sounds as if the trip was more than worth it for you.” 

“It was very beneficial, yes.” Oberyn finished, “After I agreed, I excused myself, giving her my card, offering for her to call me for both business and pleasure.”

“Did she accept your card?” 

“She did, and told me she would keep my offer in mind. Though I think it was only for posterity’s sake as she barely looked at me when she said it.”

Petyr hoped that was true. “Thank you, Oberyn.”

“My sister--”

“It’s only a rumor that her attacker is still alive, however detained. I will offer more specifics when your time here ends, provided you continue to assist me.” Petyr had to give him just a little information to keep him interested, but wouldn’t toss such valuable bait overboard so easily.

Oberyn’s voice was tight as he said, “I understand. For now.” 

Petyr looked up at Varys when the call ended. “She refused him.” 

“By the sounds of it, she did more than that.” Varys gave his astute observation. 

Petyr grinned, feeling every muscle in his body relax. Her response to Oberyn pleased Petyr to his toes. “She offered him thirty-four percent.” 

“She’s conducting business without you?” Varys eyebrows rose. 

Petyr waved his hand dismissively, too ecstatic to care. “Of course she is. She has a point to prove.”

“Which is?”

“That she’s unhappy with me, _ clearly Varys _ .” Hope grew in Petyr’s heart as he pointed out, “But she’s not so unhappy that she would do the unforgivable.” 

“Sex is unforgivable?” Varys tilted his head. “After all you’ve both been through, she takes another lover and she’s suddenly chopped liver to you?” 

The image of Sansa’s supple body wrapped around Oberyn’s tan muscles made Petyr cringe, his joyous thoughts quickly dissipating. He popped a mint, fighting the sour taste in his mouth over it. “I do not have to forgive her for one thing, to accept her in another. The world is gray, Varys. I can still share my bed and my life with her, and hate her for her--” He thought of Rickon’s words, “ _ Betrayal. _ ” 

“Is it considered a betrayal if you are separated at the time?” 

Petyr cracked his knuckles, feeling his face flush. “If she gives her body or heart to anyone other than me until the day she dies, it is. Separation or not. I don’t care if I’m the one in the fucking coma, if she takes comfort in someone else it is a betrayal.” Petyr ground through his teeth, “Until death do us part. Fuck paper, fuck words, hurt feelings and misunderstandings.  _ Til death do us part! _ ”

Varys started to speak and then stopped himself. 

“What?” Petyr dared him to say what he was trying censor. 

In a small voice, Varys asked, “Were those your vows, though?” 

It took two controlled breaths for Petyr to form words. “You are very good at your job. Pray that the day never comes when you aren’t anymore.”

There was a vibration coming from Petyr’s pants that he wondered might be an anxious shake to his leg. He’d been so tightly wound that a slight tremor wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. When he touched his hand to his pocket, he quickly confirmed that it was a call. Barbrey’s voice barked through the phone, “That little shit left me for your wife!” 

Petyr froze, a cold sweat suddenly formed in his hairline. “ _ Explain. _ ”

“Tarly,” Barbrey said simply, as if that was anywhere near enough of an explanation. 

“What about Tarly?” 

He could hear her inhale and knew she was smoking, most likely pacing as she did. “Your wife called Tarly to draw up divorce papers.” 

The wind knocked out of him and he staggered back, one hand shot out to catch himself against the arm of a chair. 

Barbrey carried on, “Tarly told her he couldn’t, being under my employ. She upped the fucking ante. Offered him enough cash to break away from my practice. Said she only trusted him to draw up the documents. And get this--to do it  _ fairly _ . As if that’s a thing! Damn it, I made so much money off him over the years.”

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish stood hunched over in his office gasping for air like a fish thrown on land. He didn’t belong in this upside down world where the woman he loved didn’t love him back. She rejected Oberyn, demonstrating the continued loyalty of a wife, and in the same day sought legal separation from the husband who devoted himself to her. It had been seven hours since he’d seen her, and in that time she’d decided she wanted a divorce? No. He couldn’t believe it.  _ Couldn’t.  _

The phone fell from his hand and he was only barely aware of Varys gliding over to catch it. Varys’ voice sounded so distant as he took over, “Barbrey? _ I see _ .”

Petyr stared down at the shine to his shoes, counting as he fought to regain his composure. He barely heard Varys’ stern reply, “I understand it’s ironclad and I don’t care. Pull up the prenup paperwork, _ now! _ ” 

Petyr closed his eyes, seeing only the loud pulse of his heart behind his eyelids. 

 


	7. Without Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crowd gasped, looking at the gold finish of Cersei’s pistol glinting in the sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATION WARNING!!!
> 
> So I'm having difficulty juggling Lemon Lolli and Fall of the Pride -- just cause life. Because I write Lemon Lolli relatively fast and there's only 4 chapters left, I'm going to finish that fic off before I post another chapter of Pride. So it is entirely up to you if you want to read this chapter 7 now, knowing 8 won't come for a while. Or save it until Lolli is finished. I leave it in your hands!

“I don’t know what to tell you. She hasn’t actually filed yet,” Barbrey’s raspy voice replied. 

Petyr switched the phone to his other ear. He had her repeat herself, not believing it the first time she said it. He still didn’t. “Why not?”

Barbrey laughed, “Who knows what’s going on in that pretty head of hers.”

He did. Or, he  _ used to _ , anyway. 

Sansa had poached Tarly from Barbrey, showing him that she was clearly serious about this. Sansa was a proud woman who didn’t go back on her decisions easily and she’d been pushed to this, he saw that now.  _ He _ pushed her to this. 

He was so certain that he could make her feel how they used to, forcing her for his own gratification. When she wouldn’t see his side of things, he at least got a handful of her before retreating, like the animal he’d become. It took the knowledge that his Sansa was seeking a  _ permanent _ separation for him to realize that she was slipping away from him. 

Barbrey had called to tell him about Sansa only a couple hours before he would have the children. Caught in the grips of the most severe panic attack he’d experienced since he was a teenager, Petyr fought to keep it together. He wore a fake smile as Elenei hugged his leg and Durran filled his arms. He couldn’t stomach dinner, so he bought a pizza for Elenei and pulled a package of Sansa’s breast milk from the fridge to supplement a jar of baby food for Durran. He spooned the mush in his son’s blissfully ignorant grin as he listened to Elenei’s high speed chatter about sleepy-Uncle Bran and Auntie Aerie’s baby-belly.

The happy sound of his children filling his home, helped to detract from the tightness in his chest, and kept a smile, however small, in place. He tucked them both in, Durran taking longer to go down, clearly disappointed at not having the comfortable bed of his mother’s breast to drift off on. Without Sansa to share the night with, Petyr pulled her choice vodka from the freezer and crawled into his side of the bed, letting the frosty bottle burn against his scar in between drinks. It was uncouth and pathetic and all he could manage.

Waking up to the sound of his baby’s hungry scream and his daughter’s impatient stomping, Petyr dragged himself, extremely hung over, back to reality. He looked around himself, verifying--yet again, that Sansa was not there to wake up to. Luckily, Varys showed up with Olyvar and copious amounts of coffee. Olyvar occupied the kids while Varys and Petyr scoured the prenup, planning for every eventuality. Divorce would drown him to death, but the prenup held hope for survival. There had to be a loophole, something he could exploit. 

Petyr had been short-sighted, thinking she meant to screw someone else just to prove her intention of moving on. He knew their history, and more importantly, hers. Sansa used sex. It was as simple as that. She used it before him to get closer to the Hound, and she used it after him to feel better about herself, and them. It was something that never bothered him, because being married to her, it always benefitted him in the end anyway. It made sense that she would use sex in this instance as well. 

Siccing Oberyn on her was only logical at the time. He would control the potential for infidelity, if he could. What man wouldn’t? If Sansa decided to fight with sex, she would turn to Oberyn and the Casanova would restrain himself as the leash Petyr held him on tightened. 

Petyr would be lying if he didn’t admit that he also wanted her to feel the sting of rejection, Oberyn denying her at his command. Petyr fantasized that she would turn back to her marriage, perhaps with some increased insecurity, which would serve her right for leaving in the first place. He’d hold her to him, stroking the red river of hair he missed so much, and forgive her. 

In planning this, he hadn’t imagined that she would turn Oberyn down. A small part of him had  _ hoped _ , wanting to be the only man to whom she could ever be attracted. He understood the primal need of humans too well to count on that though. That was why it was so important to select his own man rather than leave it to chance. 

He had been wrong. 

Cozying up to another man was not the proof she threatened in the car. It was the divorce, the papers, taking Tarly into her employ. He had no one to blame but himself, he’d pushed her to it with each touch taken, kiss extorted, privacy invaded. It provoked her, built up until she fought back. Sansa pulled no punches when her mind was made up, and Petyr knew that, knew that when she called Tarly, she meant it. He was only too glad that he still retained Barbrey as his own lawyer. Had Sansa realized Barbrey would call him? Or, was she so driven to divorce she saw only the dotted line to sign?

He had no idea how to repair this; he didn’t even know whether it was possible. There was so much he didn’t know, and only one thing he did. Sansa retaliated for his intimacy, so he would bank that affection for the time being. He didn’t know how long that would be; everything seemed so completely under her control. She decided to leave, to force him to live alone, sleep alone. She decided when they were through; his opinion ceased to matter. When he gave it, she tightened the reins, deciding to dissolve their marriage. 

He wondered when she would serve him the papers. “How long does it take to draw up the documents?” 

“Normal divorce? Couple hours. A divorce between you two? Most of the day. Add on your prenup to consider…” It had been two days since Barbrey called to alert Petyr as to Sansa’s actions. She puffed on her cigarette. “He’s probably still working on it as we speak.”

Petyr wondered if there was any relief in that. He ended the call quickly when he saw Sansa approaching the car, her expression blank. The door opened and she sat down beside him, barely giving him a glance. He dug his fingertips into his thigh to keep from reaching for her once her scent reached his nostrils. He would control himself, knowing the cost each time he didn’t. 

It was with no little amount of effort that he stared ahead and spoke evenly, “Thank you for accompanying me.” 

She looked surprised that he had kept his distance. “Yes, well, a funeral is hardly the place to become petty.”

They drove a couple of miles in silence, stealing quick glances at each other. Or at least he did. They were going to Tommen Lannister’s funeral, the first official appearance of the Lannisters in nine long days. Varys had already made contact with Tyrion, verifying that there would be no hostilities, as was standard whenever a boss died. Tommen wasn’t a boss, but he was the child of one. It was prudent to treat this accident with the same weight as if Jaime himself died. 

Funerals were emotional events, and a funeral held for a Lannister would bring it to eleven. Petyr couldn’t help himself from asking, “Are you armed?” 

She stared straight ahead, her cheek pulled in a small smile, “Of course I am.”

He nodded, letting another couple of silent seconds pass. 

“Are you?” She asked, her brow wrinkled slightly. He could see her head tilt, not fully turning to face him, but clearly considering it. 

He felt a dimple grow. “Of course.” 

The car stopped and Petyr looked up. It was just a red light. Good. He didn’t want to arrive yet, didn’t want this moment to end, however awkward and contrived it was. “How many blades?” 

“Three.” 

He turned his head, waiting for her to finally turn hers. When she did, he was met head-on with her blue eyes. His chest tightened, arrested by the vibrancy he’d taken for granted before. He bit the inside of his lip hard, to make himself break the eye contact. He knew he had to be the first to look away, allowing her the dominance in the situation. He nodded his head, “You went as far as the wrist, I see.”

“It is a Lannister affair,” Sansa gave a wry smile.

Petyr felt his other dimple grow, his smile pulling to both sides, adoring how on the same page they were. She turned and did a quick scan of him. “I see you’re taking extra precautions, as well.” 

“Am I?”

“You’re wearing the double holster.” She gestured towards his chest with her fingers. 

“Am I?” He asked again, excited to see her take notice. 

She gave a soft chuckle, “Yes, because your suit isn’t Brunello, your favorite. You’re wearing Brooks Brothers, Petyr. You only wear Brooks when you’re packing twice over. Their fit is looser and accommodates the double holster.”

Petyr felt butterflies flit and fly around his stomach. He didn’t have to ask what she was wearing, he knew the second she got in the car it was the glock under her cardigan. He asked anyway, wanting them to keep talking. “Which piece did you pick?” 

She lifted her sweater, letting him see the glock nestled snug under her armpit, handle resting at the side of her breast. The sentimental part of him had wished he was wrong, that it was the beretta she was packing instead. He wondered if she sensed that because she explained, “Glock’s a faster reload, and if it goes sideways, speed is vital.” 

He wondered if she knew something he didn’t. “Planning for things to go awry?”

“Don’t I always?” She pulled her sweater closed again. She straightened in the seat, though stayed turned slightly. He was pleased to see she’d stopped rigidly staring straight ahead as she had been before. 

It was progress, at least that’s what he told himself. He had to keep her talking, keep receiving him. Petyr picked at a piece of lint on his pants, fighting the urge to discuss their relationship. He’d gotten further in the past ten minutes by not forcing his agenda than he had from the start. He wracked his brain for what to say, what to ask. The urge to confront her about the divorce paperwork tickled the tip of his tongue, threatening to slip out.

“How’s Durran eating for you?” Sansa’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

He blinked, looking back at her. He hadn’t expected her to initiate conversation. As a rule, she treated interactions with him as if they were loathsome chores. “Alright, why?” 

“Hmm.” 

He turned more purposefully, “What is it?” 

She shook her head, “It’s nothing.” 

The look on her face promised that it wasn’t nothing. He tilted his head, “Sansa?” 

She huffed, smiling as she shook her head. “When I had him, he didn’t finish his feed.”

He couldn’t help it, his eyes dropped down to her breasts, full and voluptuous, restrained behind the tight black funeral dress. She followed his gaze and rolled her eyes as she turned away from him. 

“Sansa--”

“Forget I brought it up,” she waved him off, crossing her arms protectively over herself. 

Petyr dragged his gaze to the back of the driver’s seat, overcompensating for getting caught. “You mean, you were breastfeeding him and he stopped before you felt he should have been done?” 

“Yes.” She spoke as if admitting it was the hardest thing she could have done. 

“Did he seem hungry after?” Petyr wondered aloud, unsure as to why his son, typically good eater would suddenly stop being so, particularly with Sansa. He hadn’t noticed any change in Durran’s eating. In fact, it seemed on point with Elenei’s when she was his age. 

Sansa pursed her lips, thinking. “No, actually. He didn’t.” 

“Maybe he just wasn’t as hungry at the time?” Petyr guessed. 

She nodded, “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“So will I,” Petyr agreed, hoping that by treating the issue with importance, she would worry less. 

“Thank you,” she said barely above a whisper. 

How strange it was to feel so excited over so minimal of a gesture. Petyr was used to so much more from his queen, and would not have appreciated concessions like these in the past, deeming them too small to hold any significance. The frigidity of her absence put things in perspective. He chewed his lip, staring at her out of the corner of his eye as he carefully asked, “How is Bran?” 

Her body went rigid, from jaw to fists, clenched. Her head turned slowly to peer at him under the angry line of her brow. The car rolled to a stop just in time for her to stifle whatever enraged response she might throw at him. Her door opened and she was out of the car as he fumbled with his own door handle. 

Petyr walked around to her side, determined to stand beside her. Her riding with him would do no good if they kept a lengthy distance between them throughout the procession. He wasn’t trying to hide their separation, as there was truly no use, everyone knew everything about everyone else. That didn’t mean he wanted to advertise it, either. Sansa raised her hand in a muted wave, tilting her head and smiling slightly. Petyr followed the direction of her attention, “The Manderlys are in attendance?” 

“Cersei will want a large turnout for her baby. I thought it best to bring as much representation as possible. Don’t you agree?” She raised her brow at him, as if daring him to dispute her words. “The Manderlys are loyal to my family.” 

Of course. Manderly money. That was how she could offer Oberyn a higher percentage and fork over the cash to buy Tarly away from Barbrey. Petyr inhaled through his nostrils, controlling his gut response to lash out over her clear move towards independence. Had she called upon them before or after she decided to hire Tarly? Would she make sure a loyal family was present when she finally slapped him with the papers? Petyr cocked his leg out, leaning to one side as he considered his response. 

She flicked her gaze down to his leg and took a deep breath, as if taking no pleasure in what she was about to say. “This is about representation, Petyr. You know that. Where are the Royces?” 

The childish part of himself wanted lie and tell her that they hadn’t been invited, that he thought him and her standing together was enough. If she didn’t enjoy this, he wanted to make sure she hated it. She always leaned on him and he always supported her. It was awful to see her stand so apart from him. He pointed off in the distance towards Oberyn. Beside him, Bronzy walking with his wife, their boys and the women they’d taken behind them. Of course Petyr ensured his strongest, most loyal family was in attendance, and even if he hadn’t, Varys would have. 

The doors to the car behind them opened and out came Jon and Ygritte, as well as _ Robb and Talisa? _ He’d heard that they were in town, but never in a million years imagined Sansa would have brought them to this. Petyr almost did a double-take when he watched Rickon pile out of the vehicle behind Talisa. Sansa had brought every able-bodied family member she could.

Petyr extended his hand to Robb, “It’s good to see you.” 

Robb looked down at his hand and hesitated before shaking it. “Petyr.” 

That wasn’t unexpected. Robb had never been a fan of Petyr, and he knew that. He also knew that by being so polite to the man, it would make it that much harder for him to have anything negative to say about him to Sansa. Petyr tilted his head in recognition of his wife, “Talisa.” 

She nodded back, clinging tightly on Robb’s arm.

Petyr reached forward and clasped Jon’s arm, giving him a hearty grin. Jon’s tortured expression revealed a ghost of a smile flickering in and out of existence. He let go of his arm and began signing to him, asking him how he was. A quick glance to Sansa showed her discomfort with the ease he and Jon had. Petyr then turned to Ygritte, a woman who loathed crime and was determined to pull Jon from his life of it. Her eyes widened as he greeted her with an apology. His hands worked fast to tell her how he hated her and Jon being displaced, and that they were welcome to return at any time, or store their things there for as long as they needed. 

Ygritte’s face softened and she gave a slight smile as she nodded and thanked him. Sansa’s lips pursed, her back straightening in a deadly posture. Petyr bit back a smile. She wasn’t just ditching some guy that displeased her, she was tearing apart a family, relationships developed over seven years. She needed to know that. Whatever issue she had with him, she had to see the bigger picture. 

Rickon was next. He stood off to the side, fidgeting with something in his pocket as he poked at a blade of grass with his shoe. He was an adult now, able to drink, drive, vote, and yet he never looked more childlike. Petyr closed the gap between then and pulled him into a quick hug. Rickon didn’t fight it, only slapped his back twice in return gesture as he buried his face on his shoulder. Petyr whispered, “You did the right thing.” 

Rickon nodded. 

Petyr pulled away, smiling as he mussed his hair, “You hear me?” 

“Yeah,” Rickon nodded again, this time with a smile. 

Sansa looked between the two of them, curiosity on her face. She clearly had no idea what had transpired between the two of them. Petyr appreciated Rickon’s ability to keep a secret. Sansa cleared her throat, “Arya’s with Bran.” 

“I assumed,” Petyr replied, knowing her explanation to be much more caustic than it’s face value. Apparently she didn’t like feeling all the layers with which they were connected. He wondered what impact, if any, this would have on her decision to divorce. “As you can see I didn’t bring the children, they are young enough to be excused.” 

“And I am grateful for that. As a show of good faith, I brought my family in their place.” Sansa straightened her sweater, adjusting her holster. 

To look truly remorseful, and unthreatening, it was important to make sure that everyone came with someone they couldn’t bear losing. It was why he insisted on Sansa arriving with him, barring the children, there was no one else he couldn’t live without.

“There she is,” Sansa’s voice brought his attention back, zeroing in on Cersei.

“Have you spoken to her since the accident?” 

When he didn’t hear a response, he turned to watch her shake her head. That was not encouraging. He cringed watching the casket go by, considering what Cersei’s silence might mean for them. Myrcella and Joffrey trailed behind, Jaime and Cersei at the end with Tyrion off to the side. They slowed as they approached Petyr and Sansa. 

“ _ Little Dove _ ,” Cersei’s voice was hoarse. 

Sansa took a step forward and Petyr fought the urge to stop her. His wife’s voice as low and filled with remorse, “ _ Cers _ .” 

Jaime wrapped an arm around Cersei and spoke to Petyr, “Come.” 

Given the circumstances, Petyr followed his command. The man’s son was dead in a box, the least Petyr could do was walk beside him. It was encouraging that Jaime was engaging in this civility, letting the city see the two families standing together at this time. Petyr had hoped it would occur this way, but hadn’t dared hope. He started to reach for Sansa’s arm, but stifled that impulse. The last thing he needed was for her to recoil at his touch with an audience present. 

Part of him was certain that the Lannisters would speak to them as they walked. He understood the solemn nature of the event, the personal chords it struck for them, but they were so unconventional that he wondered. He glanced over to Sansa, wondering if she was thinking the same thing. Her expression was unreadable, and a small part of him hated her for it. He hated not knowing--not knowing  _ her _ . She could be walking beside him, sharing the same thoughts, or she could be a million miles away, trying to decide the most gratifying way of slapping him with the divorce papers Tarly was still toiling away on. 

Would she be thinking of herself right then? Or, would she be considering the Lannisters now that they were front and center? Of course, that was assuming that she hadn’t been before. Who knew where her head was at? Petyr took a deep breath to match his step closer to the burial placement. He was stuck in a tailspin, not knowing what way was up or down. Sansa was the only person capable of doing that to him, whether she meant to or not. He was too easily riled over the loss of control. Petyr thrived in chaos, at least he had. He’d been spoiled on the domesticity Sansa and the children brought him. 

They came to a stop and Petyr was vaguely aware of Stannis and his men pulling up in the distance. It was standard for there to be a police presence at mafia funerals. It was contradictory, but Petyr never bothered to explain that to the man. Commissioner Baratheon swore to the cameras that there was no organized crime in  _ his _ city. What he continually failed to realize was that each time he mustered up some courage to be a presence at various events, it only validated the opposite of what he boasted. 

Jaime found it hilarious and said it made Stannis look like the tit he often told him he was. Petyr saw the value of his own power and influence being validated by the public attention of the police commissioner himself taking time to attend such events. 

Petyr scanned the police presence, looking for Brune. He was off to the far end in his dress blues, silently standing at attention. Of all the pets Petyr had kept in his pocket, Brune was proving to be the best trained. Owning him had been Sansa’s idea, and Petyr felt a sudden stab of longing as he remembered the the night they’d taken him into their employ.

Sansa’s family had followed closely behind her and gathered to her right. It looked lopsided to have only Varys at his side and to have five people next to Sansa. Jon’s brow wrinkled as he looked and realized. He took three steps to the side, technically standing in the middle behind them, but leaning more towards Petyr. Rickon was next, shifting closer to Jon, filling out the middle ground. 

Petyr appreciated the small gestures of reluctant fondness they offered him. Sansa was too focused on Cersei to notice either her family behind her or his reaction to them. 

_ “We gather here today to celebrate the life of Tommen Lannister.” _

The priest had begun to speak and Petyr was only barely aware of it, keeping his head down in a show of respect, but stealing glances at the crowd that surrounded. 

_ “Who has now returned to his home with Our God, The Father.”  _

The Greyjoys had apparently stopped trying to make their little island independent from the rest of the city for the day. They had a history of intermittently showing the Lannisters some loyalty. Paying their respects would maintain the loose relations they shared. 

_ “Blessed is the heavenly father who graces us with such a beautiful and kind young man to share our love and memories with, before welcoming him to his rightful place by his side.”  _

The Frays were in attendance as well. Lancel’s widowed wife stood next to her father in law Kevan and his wife. Petyr wondered if the poor girl truly felt a closeness to them, or if Kevan was simply determined to keep his grandchild near. 

_ “God is full of mercy and compassion. Lord, we ask that you forgive young Tommen any sins committed through human frailty.”  _

Petyr hadn’t seen the gun draw until after Oberyn ran past, knocking him off balance. Petyr’s head whipped to Sansa. Oberyn was shielding her as Petyr pulled his pistol, a shot fired, cracking through the air.

The priest dropped to his knees first before his body went slack and fell to the ground. The blood didn’t have the chance to pool, soaked up by both his robes and the grassy earth beneath his feet. The crowd gasped, looking at the gold finish of Cersei’s pistol glinting in the sunshine. 

“ _ Cers _ ,” Sansa breathed, her own piece pulled. The Starks had swarmed, Oberyn maintaining his position in the front. Gun drawn in one hand, Robb held Talisa back behind him with his other hand. Petyr was surprised to see the man knew to come prepared. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten everything his parents taught him before they were brutally murdered. 

Jon stood in front of Sansa to cover whatever Oberyn wasn’t, leaving Ygritte safely behind. Rickon held up the rear, his own gun shaking. Petyr could see his silent prayer not to have to use it, but the determination to, if necessary. 

The ferocity with which Cersei spoke made the hair stand up on Petyr’s arms. “My son had no sins to forgive.” She stepped over towards the rumpled pile of priest on the ground and spit on him, “Fuck you for saying he did. I hope you rot in hell.”

“Put the guns down!” Stannis barked, charging up the lawn with his small army of purchased police. It was for posterity’s sake, and everyone knew it. A simple show for the media covering the event, and nothing more. The man would have to be suicidal to march into a group of heavily armed people, well versed in dead body disposal and weren’t shy about calling in favors. 

Rickon was the only one who lowered his piece, not knowing enough to ignore the supposed authority figure. Robb, to his credit kept his raised. Either he knew Stannis was bought and paid for, or he valued his sister and wife above the prospect of jail. 

Petyr smiled to Stannis, offering the necessary show for the crowd. “Thank you for keeping the peace, Commissioner Baratheon. However, as you can see, emotions are high and the situation is well under control.” 

Stannis’ skeptical expression would have been answer enough, but he still felt the need to voice his doubt, “It did not sound as though things were  _ under control _ .”

Varys took a step closer to the priest, as if he could block the body from view. Varys was a large man, but a dead priest was rather noticeable. Tyrion shifted out from behind Jaime and Cersei, his hands in his pockets, seemingly unarmed. “Today is not the best day to strive for employee of the month, Stannis.” 

All eyes had been on Cersei, golden gun in her grip, and a hateful scowl on her face. Petyr, on the other hand looked at Jaime. The Lannister head stood in place, as if his feet were rooted there, a hum of barely contained energy emanating from him. He held a gun in each had, both cocked and pointed down at the ground. Jaime wasn’t the best aim, but he was known for his quick draw, and they were all standing close enough that aim wasn’t an issue.

Stannis stepped forward, nearing the casket as he replied, “I’ll be the judge--”

“ _So help me, FUCK!_ ” Jaime roared, loud and savage, his whole body shaking as each muscle and vein in his neck bulged. “Step your italian knockoffs _the fuck_ away from _MY SON’S_ _GRAVE!_ ” 

Stannis took a couple steps back, shrinking as he said, “I’m just trying to keep things civil, here.” 

Cersei stepped forward, cocking her gun in threat as she did. “Don’t make my husband repeat himself.” 

Petyr glanced at Sansa, she stood tall and proud, unflinching at the show of power and dominance in front of her. She slowly lowered her gun, determining some level of safety in the situation. She knew Cersei better than anyone, save Jaime. If anyone could determine Cersei’s next move it would be Sansa. Petyr lowered his gun, following her lead. Tyrion raised an empty hand as he stepped closer to Stannis, “Come on, Stannis. Let’s go talk.” 

“Talk about what?” Stannis furrowed his brow. 

Tyrion nodded his head and waved him to follow as he turned away from the casket. “Come on, come on. Let my brother bury his son.”

It was with no little amount of reluctance, that Stannis lowered his gun. Just as he turned to follow Tyrion, raising his hand to wave off his officers, Joffrey laughed at him, “You’re a real shithead, Stannis. You know that?” 

“ _ Joffrey, _ ” Tyrion growled. 

Stannis blustered, “What--” 

Like the angel she was, Myrcella appeared. Her delicate hand landed on Stannis’ forearm, “Please excuse my brother. Mourning has taken such a toll on him.” She batted her eyelashes at him and produced a tear. Petyr was sure they were real tears considering the loss of her younger brother, though didn’t discount how readily they were available to her. She sniffled a little, “You understand, don’t you?” 

Stannis looked completely caught up in her, whether by her beauty or her performance, Petyr wasn’t certain. He nodded slightly, swallowing as he said, “I am sorry for your loss.” 

Her voice caught, “Thank you, Commissioner.” 

Petyr saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Joffrey. He had opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Tyrion’s other hand was out of his pocket and a small blade was poking Joffrey’s leg in warning. It was hard not to chuckle at that. 

Myrcella sighed, “If you’ll excuse us, I would like to say goodbye to my brother.” 

Stannis’ brow wrinkled as he nodded. Tommen was easily, the most innocent of the Lannisters, but Myrcella had always been the best at humanizing them for others. On this particularly emotion-filled day, she did not disappoint. Tyrion stepped away from Joffrey, leading Stannis away. His small crowd of uniforms turned and left to gather at their cruisers again. 

Jaime was still vibrating with his anger as he sidled up behind Cersei, his arms wrapping around her waist. Petyr watched him visibly calm with the full-body contact of his wife, and could relate all too well. He glanced over to Sansa again, wondering if she noticed. Either she didn’t, clueless to her effect on him, or she did and simply didn’t care. He hoped it was the first, but knew it had to be the later. A person didn’t share seven years with another and not know what effect they have on the other. Oh, she definitely knew and stopped caring. He grit his teeth at that.

Jaime kissed Cersei’s shoulder before he spoke over it, “Everyone, put your pieces away.” Cersei’s head lolled back to rest on him, likewise eased by the feel of her husband behind her. Petyr missed that. He glanced at Sansa again. She holstered her weapon, distracted from the display of affection in front of them. Petyr wanted her to see, to remember what it used to be like. Had she forgotten? Was that all this was? She’d forgotten the effect they had on each other? 

He fought to keep from gawking at her, waiting for her to lift her head and look. Cersei’s eyes closed as Jaime kissed her neck. His voice was determined, “There will be no more shooting at my son’s funeral.” His lips moved to Cersei’s ear as one hand covered hers, working the pistol from it, “Not even from my wife.” She sighed, releasing the gun as he kissed her ear. 

Petyr looked at Sansa, still not seeing the Lannister’s love in front of her. It was then that Petyr realized she was purposefully averting her gaze. Excitement rang through him at the knowledge that she very much noticed exactly what he wished she would. The question was whether she tried not to look to give them privacy, or because she couldn’t bear to see what she was missing.

The sound of everyone shifting and sheathing their weapons carried through the crowd for a couple of minutes until everyone settled back to staring at the gold plated casket with the Lannister name engraved down the length of it. It looked darker when Petyr had been following behind it, however it shone brilliantly in his resting place. Petyr wondered if it was the placement of the sun in the sky or the dead priest that accented it. 

“What fucking funeral?” Joffrey petulantly exclaimed. “Mom killed the shitty priest.”

Petyr darted his glance to Jaime and Cersei. Both acted as if they had not heard their eldest rather rudely state the obvious. Jaime turned Cersei around to face him, pulling back her blazer to holster her weapon under her arm for her. Their eyes locked as he adjusted her blazer, communicating in the silent language only longtime lovers learn. Myrcella projected her voice to the crowd, ignoring the moment her parents were sharing. “We don’t need a priest to bless my brother.” 

“Yeah, it’s a bit late for that,” Joffrey scoffed. 

Jaime leaned into Cersei, both closing their eyes, so in tune, as he pressed his lips to hers. He raised his hand beside them and snapped his fingers. Kevan stepped forward and gripped Joffrey by the arm as Jaime pulled from their kiss and brought Cersei’s head to his shoulder so he could peck a light kiss to the top of her head. 

Cersei didn’t cry, nor did she look as despondent as she had at the start. Her eyes closed from time to time as she allowed her husband to hold her. Joffrey protested loudly as Kevan carted him off, but the crowd knew better than to acknowledge it. Myrcella drew the attention back to herself, “Anyone from any family could agree that Tommen was the best of us, Lannisters.” 

There was a warmth to Petyr’s side that he attributed to the sun shining, until he’d realized it was Sansa. She stood apart from him, determined to be independent, to refuse his touch. Yet here she was, leaning towards him, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her. Did she know she was doing this, or was it subconscious? He didn’t dare look to check, lest whatever empathetic spell she was under be broken. 

Myrcella continued, “As my mother said, Tommen was without sin. Which, as you can all imagine, is no small feat in a life like ours.” There was a collective mumble of agreement, some slight tips of the head. “He was gentle and kind, and reminded us with his smile that there was more to life than just the mean and the ugly.” Her voice caught as she stepped forward and crouched by the coffin, touching the warm metal with her hand. “The world is so much harsher now without you. I never should have let you go, and I’ll always be sorry.” 

She slowly rose and found her place under her father’s free arm. Jaime gave his wife and daughter a squeeze as he spoke, “Tommen passed away while in service of the family. If there is one value that I could have instilled in my children, it’s family. Though I am forever wounded by the loss of my youngest, I take some comfort in knowing that in his life, he shared that value. See you on the other side, my son.” 

There was a long pause as people wondered and waited to see if Cersei would say anything. Jaime gave her arm a supportive rub, nudging her as she slowly pulled from him. Kevan’s wife held a long stem rose out to her. Cersei plucked it from her hand and stepped forward. She gave a sad smile as she spoke, “I used to tell the kids that to create them, Jaime and I had to give up a part of ourselves.” Cersei turned to Myrcella and smiled a bit more genuinely as she said, “Myrcella got her beauty from Jaime and her instincts from me.” Myrcella smiled through her tears and Jaime wrapped his other arm around her too. She breathed a light laugh, “Though if you ask Jaime, he would say it was reversed. I guess every couple needs something to disagree about.” 

Cersei turned to face everyone again, her voice turned harder as she explained, “I would tell  _ Tommen _ that Jaime gave him his imagination, and I gave him my conscience.” She chuckled as she wiped a tear from her eye. “When he was little, his eyes would grow wide and he’d say, ‘ _ Oh no! What will you and Daddy do now? _ ’ And I’d just tell him that it was all going to be alright, as long as we all stayed together, we would protect him and he could be those things for us. No one would go without.” 

Petyr could swear he felt Sansa’s arm brush his in the intensity of Cersei’s story, a mother’s memory. The Lannisters were passionate people, it was impossible not to feel something for them huddled together, dipped in black mourning. He wanted to reach for Sansa’s hand and hold it, give her comfort, himself too. 

Cersei’s jaw set, her voice cold as she admitted, “I wasn’t able to keep him safe, and now  _ my conscience is gone _ .” After a moment she whispered something into the flower and kissed it before she set it on top of the casket and stepped back. Petyr wondered if her final words were a confession or a promise.

Jaime pulled her back under his arm as one by one, people paid their respects. People parted when they saw Sansa step forward, Petyr following to stay by her side. She stood before Cersei, not saying a word, though the single tear that had rolled down her cheek as well, spoke volumes. For a moment, Petyr worried she may actually try to hug her, but he knew Sansa knew better than to do that. 

He watched in astonishment as she raised a hand, palm up and held it out, like one would a stray animal, allowing it the opportunity to sniff out any threat. Slowly, Cersei’s own palm suspended in the air for a moment before it settled in Sansa’s. The two women held each other’s hand in silence, speaking only with the mutual gesture. When Sansa started to release Cersei, she pulled Sansa in closer, and Petyr felt every muscle in his body tighten, his fingers itching to pull his gun. 

Had the Lannisters realized that it wasn’t Tommen driving? Did they discover that he paid so many people off to avoid any responsibility for the death? As far as Petyr could tell, the crash had been an accident, but that wouldn’t matter if the Lannisters had someone to blame. 

Cersei kissed Sansa’s cheek, “Our sympathies regarding Bran.” 

Sansa nodded against her. She returned the kiss, “Call me, when you are ready.” 

The women broke, leaving Jaime and Petyr to turn to each other. Petyr was quick to offer his condolences, “If there’s anything we can do…”

Jaime nodded.

As Petyr and Sansa turned back towards the cars, Sansa stayed a step ahead of him, her pack surrounding her. It wasn’t far enough to be be obvious, but enough that he felt it. Ygritte threw shade at Jon, but walked arm in arm with him in front of Sansa, regardless. Robb and Talisa walked to her right, snuggled in close against the horrible mafia influence that surrounded them. Were circumstances different, Petyr would chuckle at how hypocritical the eldest Stark was. Robb turned his nose up to the life Sansa lead even though he definitely seemed to have the instinct for it. 

Rickon wedged himself between Sansa and Petyr, looking over his shoulder at him uneasily from time to time. Petyr gave him a small smile, showing no malice for the not so subtle way he was kept at a distance. To his credit, Rickon had at least had the decency to communicate with Petyr, which was more than the rest of the Starks had. It was even more than Sansa herself had. 

Petyr slowed when he saw Tyrion approaching from the side. Varys’ step quickened and he was beside Petyr, rather than behind him. Sansa didn’t look back, walking a determined pace for the car. “I am sorry for your loss,” Petyr spoke down to Tyrion. 

“People only apologize for things when they feel guilty,” Tyrion looked up at him severely. “Is your apology an admission?” 

Petyr stared back, not giving anything in his expression. Varys stood stock-still, an imposing monument next to him. They would take no ownership of the responsibility that was not theirs, nor would they admit the things that were. 

Tyrion rolled his eyes, “Oh, please. We all know you weren’t responsible.”

Petyr tilted his head in question, keeping an eye on Sansa as he did. 

“Not only was your own family compromised in the accident, the strife between you and Sansa proves that it wasn’t an attack,” Tyrion explained. 

Petyr watched Sansa stop in front of Stannis. “Strife?”

“Don’t bother denying it, we know she’s been staying at a hotel. Which, shame on you!” Tyrion shook his finger at him. “It’s a poor decision on your part to turn the mother of your children out. Etiquette dictates that the woman always gets the house.” 

Petyr felt his eye twitch as he fought the urge to scream,  _ She was the one who left me! _ Instead, he ignored the insinuations and focused on the point of the message. “Why would you assume my marriage has anything to do with whether Tommen and Bran was an accident or some sort of attack? Which, by the way, who would ever dare an attack on both of our families?” 

“Who, indeed?” Tyrion looked down at his hands and smiled, “And to answer your question Baelish, if it was an attack of some sort, neither of you would allow yourselves to be so  _ vulnerable _ as to actually separate.” 

There was truth in his words. Petyr didn’t know what happened, but if it wasn’t an accident, there would be nothing that could stop him from keeping her and the children safe with him, even if he had to break both her beautiful legs to ensure it. He glanced up to see her passing a small white envelope to Stannis. Cash, had to be. No one dealt in cash anymore. Was this Sansa’s way of doing business? What was she purchasing from the police commissioner? 

“But, I didn’t approach you to discuss your marital issues,” Tyrion glanced at his brother, back at the gravesite.

Jaime and Cersei nodded their head solemnly at each person that approached, paying their respects. Petyr flicked his gaze back over to Sansa, pleased to see Stannis leaving. “You didn’t?” 

“Hardly,” Tyrion sighed. “It was to extend an invitation.”

“Invitation?” Petyr noticed that the Starks had not dispersed, neither had Sansa gotten in the car. He wondered why they dawdled, until Oberyn came into his field of view, approaching Sansa. 

Tyrion answered, “Yes. Though my family has faced it’s hardships, there is still a business to run.” 

Petyr pried his eyes from Oberyn to look at Tyrion. Never had a truer statement been uttered. “You have something specific in mind?” 

“I’ve been contacted by a shipping company that wants to establish a firm footing in the city,” Tyrion explained. 

It didn’t sound especially unique or strange, as shipping companies came and went, each one wanting a piece of the city’s management. Some were good, some--not as much. The tentative look on Tyrion’s face, however, let Petyr know he was taking special interest in this one. “And the name?” 

Tyrion leaned in, “ _ Greyscale Shipping. _ ”

That definitely got Petyr’s attention off of the way Oberyn flirted and fondled Sansa’s hand. “Greyscale?”

Tyrion nodded. 

Petyr nodded politely, “Then it’s best we set up a meeting.”

“I’m glad you agree,” Tyrion smiled and turned to Varys. “I will text you the details.”

“Perfect,” Varys agreed. 

Petyr excused himself with large strides towards Sansa, not liking one bit how close Oberyn stood beside her. He watched Oberyn open the door to the car and hold it for her, smiling and thanking him as she got in. The tinted windows prevented Petyr from seeing her expression, though he knew she could see him approaching. Oberyn turned to face him head on, crossing his arms over his chest as he smiled back. Petyr forced a grin as he watched the Starks shift out of the way and back to their vehicles. Jon ran his fingers through his curly mob, giving him a sympathetic look as he did. Petyr loathed pity, even more so right then, in front of Oberyn. 

With just the two of them again, he kept his smile wide for anyone looking as he began to tell his  _ friend _ to discontinue his pursuit of Sansa. He was cut off however, by Oberyn’s explanation. “I understand it is important for the husband to be the hero, but I could not allow a mother to go unprotected.” 

“She wasn’t,” Petyr growled through his grin. 

“Ahh,” Oberyn tucked his hands in his pockets. “But I was faster, no?” 

“That is not the point,” Petyr argued. “She would have been protected, even without your interference.” 

“I’m sorry, did you not want me to keep your wife safe?” Oberyn challenged with a self-satisfied smirk. 

Petyr glared at him. “There was no reason to.” 

“Where I come from, it is not allowed to take a mother from her children. I only did what I felt was right to honor that value.” Oberyn shrugged, “Especially for a friend.”

Likely. 

Petyr had known from the first time he’d introduced them that Oberyn found Sansa attractive. The fact that he would step so out of line, told Petyr that perhaps the man valued more than just her physical attributes, perhaps he’d become taken with her. 

Well, too fucking bad. Sansa was Petyr’s wife, no one else’s. Any divorce papers she presented him with would be short lived. 

Oberyn opened the door for Petyr, teasing him with a smug smile. Petyr mirrored it as he stared at him, a brief glimpse of Sansa’s folded legs in the car prioritized his need to be with her, over his need to best Oberyn. “Why, thank you, Oberyn,” Petyr smoothed his hand over his tie and stepped inside the car wondering whether or not Oberyn was simply toying with him because of the information he was withholding, or if he truly grew an interest in Sansa. All was fair in business, it could have easily been either.

The door clicked shut and Petyr glanced at Sansa, staring ahead at the partition. He had no right to ask, she’d made that clear, but that didn’t stop him from taking the liberty. “I saw you speaking with Stannis.” 

She smirked, “Your eyesight never fails you.” 

“You were quite subtle with the envelope, not many would have noticed it.”

“Are you saying this to compliment me, or show off?” Sansa sighed. 

He looked back at her, incredulous. She was closed off again. What happened? They were talking in the car before, smiling even, and he knew he wasn’t imagining it when she leaned into him as the Lannisters sent off their youngest. Something or someone influenced this change. Was it because she’d just been with her family? Did it have something to do with Oberyn?

“Can’t it be both?” Petyr tried to pull a smile from her. When she didn’t respond, he pushed a little further, “We’ve already paid Stannis, so it does lead one to wonder why you might feel the need to kick him some cash.”

“It’s really not your concern,” Sansa dismissed. 

Petyr bit the side of his cheek, determined not to let her see how affected he was by the way she cut him out. They used to share so much that this was quite a slap in the face. He knew that she was going to present him with divorce papers at any moment she saw fit, it made sense that she would keep things to herself. Part of him argued that he had more experience in business and whether she wanted him back in her bed or not, she would do well to include him for whatever advice and counsel he’d give her. It was a poor choice on her part not to include him. 

Sansa glanced over to Petyr, nodding her head back at the cemetery, “What did Tyrion want, anyway?” 

He replayed her question in his head, astounded by the audacity of them. She was cutting him out of her life, but still expected to be apprised as to the happenings in his? Petyr dragged his eyes from his lap to her expectant expression. His acerbic reply seeped from his lips, “It’s really not your concern.”


	8. Greyscale Shipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the woman of his dreams who trapped him in his worst nightmare

If they were only meeting the Lannisters, Petyr would have allowed Varys to drive them, but with this unknown variable of Greyscale Shipping, it was always better to have more men available. A driver and a bodyguard in the front seat promised two extra sets of hands. Presuming this was the same Greyscale Shipping that pretended to be the Sons of the Harpy to conduct their underhanded business four years prior and then disappeared off the face of the planet, one could never be too cautious. 

A face to face meeting was the perfect opportunity for a set up, even though there had been no indication from Jaime that the Lannisters blamed Petyr for Tommen. He’d meet even if they did. To refuse the Lannister’s invitation would only raise suspicions. It wouldn’t take long for them to start researching the crash more in depth, and that was the last thing Petyr needed. 

As they drove beyond the city’s busy streets, Petyr tilted his phone away from Varys. It wasn’t as if Varys didn’t know about the cameras, having helped to place them. It was only that Petyr felt Sansa’s privacy was for his viewing pleasure only. Besides, the cameras had only just come online that morning--just in time to watch her get dressed for the day, so the excitement was still new. It had been eleven days since she walked out on him, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that regardless of how impatient he was growing with the situation, the camera feed was helping to somewhat satiate his need to see sides to her that others couldn’t.

She sat on the side of the bed, Talisa in the lounge chair beside her as Robb paced back and forth. Petyr popped his earbud in and listened to the eldest Stark speak. “I don’t see why you need to give him the kids tonight. You know he’s gonna be pissed.” 

Sansa had called him earlier and told him that Elenei missed him. Petyr had challenged her on it, reminding her that it wasn’t his night. He regretted doing so instantly. He’d only pointed it out to hurt her. He wondered if it worked when she paused for a moment before she told him that regardless of whose night it was, if their children wanted to see either parent, it was important to let them. He hated her a little for taking the higher road. Then she finished with, “Unless you’re too busy,” and he found some small sick satisfaction in the fact that she’d stoop just as low as he had. 

Petyr was pleased to hear that Elenei missed him and told Sansa that of course he wanted his daughter back for the night. Sansa agreed to bring them over to the house after dinner. What’s more, she said she’d deliver them personally. That should have been a clue that something was wrong. Seeing Robb pacing in her room now, wasn’t encouraging, especially since he said that Petyr would be upset about something.

“I know. But it’s because I know he’ll be upset that I want him to have the kids,” Sansa explained. 

“I’m sorry, that doesn’t make any sense,” Talisa said. So she had a voice? Petyr often wondered; she was always so quiet. Robb did most of the talking for her, saving her from having to directly engage with the murderers and thieves of his family. “When Ygritte and Elenei get back from the pool, Robb and I can take the kids. It’s no trouble.”

“No. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need anyone to watch them. Right now--for this, it has to either be me or Petyr. And this going to really hurt him,” Sansa’s voice caught. 

Good. Whatever pain she was planning to inflict on him should affect her too. This was a woman who not two months prior promised a priest that no one else could ever compare to him. He felt her love then, and he had to believe that a love like that didn’t just disappear. Petyr didn’t know what she was planning, but he could assume. It had to be the divorce papers she had Tarly toiling away on. Varys found something in the prenup to slap her with whenever she decided to serve him. It wasn’t huge, but it would be uncomfortable for her to say the least, and if nothing else, it would slow her down. He watched her head shake as she spoke, “I want him to have the kids tonight. He’s going to need to hold them. And I want him to know that whatever I’m doing, I wouldn’t dream of trying to rip them from him.” 

“You can’t care about him, Sansa. He fucked over Bran!” Robb hissed shaking his head, “You gotta pull yourself out of the wreckage. It’s just business, that’s all it can be.”

_ Thanks for that Robb _ , Petyr sneered to himself. Off in the corner of the screen, Petyr watched Bronn and Arya come through Sansa’s door. Arya’s voice was exasperated as she waddled to Sansa’s bedside, “What are we talking about?” 

Bronn perched on one of the bureaus, “Golden Snatch looks like someone kicked her puppy. Must be talking about her man Baelish.”

“Yeah, we’re discussing--” Talisa started to speak but was cut off by Bronn’s raised hand. 

“Let me save you the explanation. If you’re talking about Baelish, I don’t want to know. He pays good, so I’m not choosing sides. Work is work.” Bronn stood up and walked over to Arya, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll leave now before I hear anything he’ll want to know about.” 

_ Smart man _ , Petyr grinned. 

Arya scowled, “I’m not your mother. If you’re gonna head out, kiss me proper.”

“I’ve never given a woman a  _ proper _ kiss in front of her family before, Punky. But if you’re game, I am.” He winked at her, “Your pants are in the way though.” 

Arya rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm. “Come here.” Petyr barely paid attention to their kiss, watching Sansa off to the side, her expression pained. 

Bronn gave Arya’s belly a quick rub, “Bye, Little Bit.” He was out the door a second later and Arya was left in the middle of whatever Robb and Sansa were bickering about. Jon and Rickon must have been at the hospital with Bran. Petyr could have checked, but he didn’t care enough to at the moment. 

“It’s the divorce, isn’t it?” Arya caught herself up to speed. 

Sansa looked down at the bed, guilty. 

Good. He hoped she felt guilty. Petyr hated how easy it seemed to be for her to separate herself from him. Instead of Sansa’s voice, explaining herself, Petyr heard Robb’s. “Yes. It’s the only way to keep him out of her business.” 

“Since when do you care about business, Robb?” Arya’s brow furrowed as she challenged him.  

“I don’t!” He exclaimed. “Sansa got in over her head with Littlefinger.”

“Says who?” Arya cocked her brow. 

Talisa leaned forward in her seat. “This isn’t our life, you’re right. Sansa and the kids are family; we just want her to be safe. Petyr has a reputation for not exactly  _ allowing _ people to upset him…”

“Sans is different--” 

“Different how?” Robb cut her off. “Hmm? Cause she had his kids? So what! This is _ the fucking mob _ , Arya! Don’t be so stupid.” Fear flooded his speech, “There is no honor here, no rules, no line they won’t fucking cross! Why can’t you see that?” 

Petyr listened to the siblings squabble, but he kept his eyes on Sansa sitting silently on the bed, looking down at her lap. What was she thinking? Which sibling would she side with? Why wasn’t she standing up to both of them and saying how she felt? Did she know? She wanted him to have the kids because she planned to deal him a hard blow and didn’t want to leave him so disabled. That was something, wasn’t it? She clearly still cared about him. Then again, what good was that, if she was still going to keep herself from him?

Arya was standing now, her teeth bared as she pointed at the floor for emphasis. “I’m just as pissed off at him as all of you! The next time I see him, it’s going to take everything I have not to cold-cock the son of a bitch. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s _ Petyr _ . He’s Sansa’s family, which makes him our family, and families fuck up.” 

Damn straight. Petyr smiled at Arya’s declaration, even if he was a little unimpressed with her desire to ‘cold-cock’ him. At least she wasn’t so quick to discard him. 

“Is that what you’re going to tell Bran when he wakes up?” Robb shot back. “Sorry about your legs, bud. You know how it is,  _ families fuck up _ .” 

Petyr’s fist clenched. He’d never meant for Bran to get hurt. In fact, he hated what happened to him more than anyone, if for no other reason than the small part he played in it. Why didn’t they ever think that maybe Petyr was just as torn up by what happened as they were? Probably because he hadn’t visited Bran to their knowledge. Walking into a packed wolf’s den was as good as suicide, and while Petyr didn’t think literally, he knew he’d be growled and nipped at to say the least. 

He waited until they were in between shifts before he visited Bran’s bedside and closed his palm over his banged up shin, knowing he could feel no pain. Petyr closed his eyes and mourned Bran’s paralysis all the while praying for him to wake up. They wouldn’t know about that though, thinking him the insensitive asshole who only sent flowers to get back into Sansa’s good graces. He didn’t need to. He’d done nothing wrong in his opinion, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still feel awful about what happened to Bran. 

Robb spoke again, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a jerk here. I’m just trying to help Sansa with what little I remember from when Mom and Dad were around. She doesn’t have any connections of her own.” 

“What?” Arya’s head shot up. “Sans, is that true?” 

Sansa’s voice sounded hoarse as she lifted baby Durran up out of his bouncy chair and snuggled him close. “Sort of.” 

“What? I thought you guys ran things. How do you not have connections?” Arya plopped back down on the bed beside her.

“We did,” Sansa answered quickly. “ _ Together. _ I never needed to develop them myself because Petyr already had them all. He introduced me and every deal we made, we made together. People always worked with  _ us _ .” 

It was true. Petyr never ran the East exclusively, and neither did Sansa run the North alone. As their prenup said: anything after marriage was shared fifty-fifty. It made sense that she wouldn’t have taken the time to develop her own connections, to do so independently of him would have felt like a slap in the face. He shared so much with her, welcomed her into this world with open arms. Either of them running their territories on their own would have felt wrong.

“That’s why it’s so important for her to go through with this. Separate herself from him so she can get her feet under her,” Robb explained, the sharpness in his tone dulling. 

Arya slowly nodded and Petyr wanted to shake her. How could she agree with Robb? She was supposed to be on his side! Arya inched closer to Sansa on the bed and reached for her hand. “Do you still love him?” 

Petyr held his breath and listened closely for her answer, hearing only the loud pounding of his heart between his ears. Sansa sat rigid, unanswering, and Petyr wondered if this was what it felt like to die. Finally she broke, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she kissed Durran’s forehead and whispered, “Of course I do.” 

Relief washed over him, air filling his lungs again as he grinned, blinking back the tears that stung his eyes. 

“Everything alright?” Varys looked up from his own phone. 

Petyr waved him off, irritated by his presence. So consumed with the show before his eyes, he hated any reminder of his viewer status. He knew Sansa loved him, _ knew _ it. 

As quickly as the joy flooded it, so too did anger. She loved him, wouldn’t deny it, and yet here she was, still determined to leave. Didn’t love conquer all and all that fairytale bullshit? He supposed it didn’t for Sansa, the woman of his dreams who trapped him in his worst nightmare.      

Robb’s voice sounded through Petyr’s earbud again, “It’s not about love. It’s about protecting herself. Coming out the least scathed. That’s why it’s so important for her to go lone wolf right now.” He sighed, “I remember Mom and Dad used to work with the Karstarks and the Umbers. Maybe they can be useful?”

_ The Karstarks and the Umbers, fuck.  _ Petyr groaned to himself. They were a terrible choice in ally, always forgot who buttered their bread.  

Sansa shook her head, “No…” 

Petyr breathed deep, listening to her say, “Petyr always said they weren’t trustworthy.”

_ Attagirl! _ Petyr bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like a bastard. 

“Fuck what Petyr said. Of course he told you that!” Rob exclaimed. “Don’t you see? That’s what these possessive jerks do! They make you dependent on them.” 

What? No. That wasn’t it at all. Sansa was too strong for that bullshit. She’d never allow him to control her that way, despite his innate desire to manage everything he possibly could. Sure he was possessive, but that was only because she was his. She gave herself to him, in body, mind, and heart. He had license to feel he had rights to her that others didn’t. Wasn’t that the definition of monogamy and marriage? Why was it suddenly so wrong for him to want her only for himself?

Sansa rose from the bed, shifting Durran to her hip, advancing on Robb as she growled through gritted teeth, “I depend on no one! You of all people,  _ brother _ , know that.” 

Robb shrunk back, sniveling, “I just meant you don’t have to love them to accept the manpower.” 

Manpower? What was Sansa up to? Petyr thought back to the funeral, the way she passed Stannis an envelope of cash and her offer to Oberyn to help him walk his goods into the city. Petyr could have smacked himself for not realizing it earlier. She was buying men, and Robb was encouraging her to use the shaky connections her parents had some thirteen years prior. It was the wrong move, but given her situation, Petyr couldn’t fault her for it. Part of him actually admired Robb for using what he remembered about the business to try to benefit her. The other part of him wanted to have Brune delay his flight back to whatever third world country he crawled out of this time while he strapped him to the plane’s landing wheel.

Petyr knew Robb wasn’t his biggest fan, but as far as he could tell, when the Baelishes’ marriage was a happy one, Robb kept his mouth shut. Now, seeing how divided they were, the eldest Stark swooped in only too eagerly to patch his sister up and share whatever archaic knowledge he pulled from the recesses of his mind. Was he being opportunistic? If so, for what purpose? Or, was this just what families did? Petyr would never know, his only true family being Sansa and the kids, and he only had them fifty percent of the time and her even less. 

Sansa sank back down on the bed, giving Durran’s forehead a little kiss. “You’re probably right. I just don’t know. Petyr insisted we stay cordial with them, but discouraged me throwing anything important their way. We always gave them the easy stuff.” 

True. It was the perfect middle of the road approach. 

Sansa sighed loudly. “I don’t think he was lying. Not back then. It’s anyone’s guess what comes out of his mouth now. All bets are off.” 

_ Thanks for the vote of confidence _ , Petyr narrowed his eyes at the screen.  

“Why do you think that? I don’t think Petyr’s really done anything for us to be worried about,” Arya reasoned, taking Durran from Sansa to make silly faces at him.  

Petyr’s lips pursed. No, he hadn’t, and he also hadn’t appreciated everyone thinking the worst of him. Sansa cleared her throat and said, “No, he hasn’t. Up until now, he’s been in denial.” 

Jesus, she sounded just like Varys. 

“He was different at the funeral. Something must have finally clicked. And he’s  _ angry _ .” 

Goddamned right he was! Petyr’s fingers tightened around his phone. Eleven fucking nights he’d slept alone.  _ Eleven _ . His patience was wearing thin, of course he was angry. Sansa loved him but wouldn’t be with him. What were they? Romeo and Juliet? This was complete and utter high school drama bullshit and needed to end already. Petyr was so close to just storming in there and stealing her. This wasn’t a break up with an awkward study hall to suffer through. This was  _ a marriage _ she was trying to dissolve. 

“I shouldn’t care one way or the other.” Arya snuggled Durran close as she spoke. “And I guess I don’t. It’s just, he loves you--angry or not, and you love him.” Durran wiggled in her arms, demanding to be turned around so he could look around the room. Arya readjusted him, faking a smile, “So, just kiss and make-the-fuck-up already, so you stop looking so devastated all the time.” She set her palms out for Durran to slap as she added, “And actually eat something for a change!” 

_ Devastated?  _ Were they looking at the same woman? Every time Petyr laid eyes on Sansa, she was strong and proud, cold and unrelenting. Sure she gave in a little from time to time, showing a sliver of affection before she battened her hatches. She wasn’t some meek and mild woman who fell apart on her own. To hell with Arya for insinuating she was. Sansa had never been a woman in need of a fainting couch. 

Sansa shook her head, “It’s not enough, though. Is it?” 

Since when? Petyr felt every muscle in his body tense. When wasn’t it enough? He really wanted to know. They’d been through so much together, the idea that they couldn’t survive something as long as they remained devoted, was infuriating. 

“He lied to me, Arya. In seven years, he’d never done that.” Sansa held herself, and sniffed back her tears. “He worked without me. You can’t imagine how much it hurts to be shut out like that. He was my man, and I his woman. I gave him everything and I know he gave the same, if not more.” Sansa’s voice hardened as she grit her teeth, “Until suddenly, he didn’t anymore.  _ He withheld from me _ . Withheld the truth, business, Bran.” 

“Sans--”

“No! You listen to me now!” Sansa rose from the bed, her fists clenched, “I will love Petyr Baelish until the day I die, whether I want to or not, but it doesn’t change a _ fucking  _ thing! We had something beautiful and he ruined it.” 

Durran started crying and Sansa’s voice lowered as she hissed, “You talk about love, like it’s that easy. It’s not. One day you share everything, and the next you’re the last to know what’s happening in your own family.  _ That’s  _ not love, Arya. It’s a marriage I don’t want to be apart of.” 

Oh, fuck. 

Petyr felt his chest tighten. She was serious. Even Robb stood quiet, seeing no need to interject. Petyr would have loved to blame this decision on him. Sansa may have taken her older brother’s counsel but the hurt that ruled her decision was hers alone. 

He couldn’t listen anymore and pulled the earbud from his ear. 

“Everything okay?” Varys asked again. 

“No, it’s not. Stop asking that,” Petyr snapped. He knew Varys only meant in regards to the video feed he’d been watching, but Petyr couldn’t escape the more globalized feeling he had. Things were far from alright. 

Varys knew him well enough not to bother with an apology. His remorse was shown in the silence he allowed, and the way he waved off the driver to open Petyr’s door for him. It was a minor act of submission that easily doubled for sympathy. 

Jaime and Tyrion were already there waiting for them, standing alone in the warehouse. Petyr approached with caution, remembering his first glimpse of Jaime from two days prior. He appeared more coherent than Cersei, but only barely so. 

Both Lannisters smiled wide as Petyr and Varys approached. Tyrion called out, “Is that a beretta or are you just happy to see me?” 

“Why can’t it ever be both?” Petyr cajoled. 

Jaime laughed, “Both is always the answer with Baelish.”

Petyr looked down at the decanter in Jaime’s hand and chuckled, “Are you saying it’s different for you?” 

Tyrion straightened his tie and cleared his throat, laughing, “Excuse Jaime, he’s always excited over a gun and hard cock when he’s enjoying his drink.” 

“So nice of my brother to apologize for me,” Jaime doubled over smiling as he reached for Tyrion’s face and squeezed his cheeks. “He still thinks we need bother with  _ sorries _ . I keep telling him no one cares for them.” 

Varys gave Petyr a wary glance. Petyr ignored it the best his could, secretly agreeing with his right-hand’s silent assessment of the situation. Jaime looked like shit, his hair disheveled, his five o’clock shadow reaching more for eight, and his shirt rumpled as if it wasn’t the first day he’d worn it. A small part of Petyr could identify with the Lannister head, having allowed his own facial hair go until about an hour prior. Two full days of wallowing without Sansa had allowed the hair on his jaw to blend into this goatee and ruin whatever semblance of order he pretended to have. The funeral may have been for a Lannister, but that didn’t mean the day didn’t take it’s toll on Petyr all the same. 

Petyr made a point of looking at the decanter Jaime clutched as he smiled, “You have to tell me which car service you use--all the ones I use never offer such a generous supply.” 

Jaime looked down at his hands and then staggered a bit with a grin, “No, no Baelish. This isn’t from the car. I brought this with me from the house.”

“How resourceful,” Varys judged. Luckily, he did so with a smile that was easily assumed to be good humor by Jaime. 

Tyrion caught the sharper meaning but quickly changed the focus by raising his hand the approaching town car. “Look, there’s our friend now.”

A single caucasian male in his fifties stepped out of the car, his expression unreadable, if not reluctant as he approached. He looked a bit weathered around the edges and Petyr attributed that to life out of civilized society. Wherever he came from, it was clear it wasn’t the city. If this was the same Greyscale Shipping as the elusive one that had shown a preference for Tyrells not four years before, he appeared a bit of a let down to say the least. Petyr didn’t detect anything clever about the man that cautiously approached. His voice was gravelly as he addressed them, “Gentlemen.”

“Please, allow me to make the introductions,” Tyrion stepped forward. “Petyr Baelish, please meet Jorah Mormont, of Greyscale Shipping.” 

Petyr glanced at Jaime, waiting for a sign of approval. It was acceptable for Tyrion to make the basic introductions, but it was basic etiquette to wait for the boss’s nod of approval. Jaime waved them off and took a long pull off the decanter in his hand. That was all the encouragement Petyr needed to acknowledge the rather seasoned-looking man before him. 

Jorah Mormont stood rigid as he forced the words from his mouth, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baelish.” 

Petyr nodded and then turned to Varys, “My associate, Varys.”

Both men locked eyes, their faces holding faint traces of something Petyr couldn’t place. Varys spoke first, his voice soft as he looked away, “Pleasure.” 

“Mm.”

Tyrion interrupted whatever was between them, his smile forced, “Mormont has been developing quite the reputation for himself overseas as the fastest shipper around.” 

“I remember.” Petyr let a touch of disdain creep into his words, testing Mormont to see whether or not he’d pick up on it. 

“So you are familiar with Greyscale already?” Tyrion asked as if genuinely surprised, and perhaps he was. 

Petyr stood silent, calculating his response. 

“Just say whatever it is you’re trying to say Baelish, no need for subtlety!” Jaime waved his drink in front of him, a slight slur to his words. 

Leave it to Jaime in his inebriated state to be the only one to pick up on Petyr’s underlying message. Had Petyr been losing his touch? A look at himself in the mirror that morning hinted that perhaps he wasn’t at his best. Petyr consoled himself that he was still better than most. He was about to respond when Mormont did instead, “We attempted to reach across the sea some four or five years ago, allying ourselves with the wrong people. The Tyrells.” 

“ _ We? _ ” Petyr asked, glancing at Varys as he did. 

Varys wouldn’t meet his eye, his expression a bit heavier than the neutrality he usually gave. Petyr tore his eyes away from him, not wanting to create any suspicion by inspecting his own right hand man so closely. Jorah answered quickly, “My wife and I--Greyscale is a family business.” 

Petyr wondered who his wife was, but found it hardly the time to inquire. 

“Isn’t all business,  _ family  _ business?” Tyrion pulled a cigar from a silver case in his pocket and handed one to Jaime. 

Jaime bit the end of it off and chuckled, “And haven’t we all been suckered into a shit deal by a Tyrell or two?” 

Petyr noticed Jaime hadn’t boasted his part in Margaery’s murder. Petyr pressed Mormont further, “If I recall correctly, the barrier was moreso that your company refused to do business with my family specifically.” 

He glanced over at Varys, looking for an affirming gesture. Instead, Varys lips pressed together and his nostrils flared, an obvious sign that he was trying to maintain his composure. What was going on with him?

“Cost of working with the Tyrells. They insisted on being the only business, and we merely thought it might make us desirable if we were more exclusive.” The lines in Mormont’s brow deepened as he explained. 

Tyrion pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit his cigar. “Clever marketing.” 

“I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask why now?” Petyr eyed Varys as he asked. 

“We were still growing when Margaery came overseas and paid us a visit. They were a steady income stream and when that well dried up, we needed time to rebuild. Gather our resources. We’ve only just now grown enough to cross the water.” His answers were too ready, too perfect. One look at him and Petyr knew they were someone else’s.

“And what makes you think you’re ready to cross the water now?” Petyr asked, searching Mormont’s face for deception. 

His face held the exasperation of a man too honest for his own good. Petyr wondered how a man so completely transparent knew Varys, as they surely knew each other from somewhere. Knowing Margaery wasn’t far-fetched, the woman’s life-goal to ride every cock she encountered explained the majority of men’s entanglement with her. Petyr’s many profitable businesses proved that even the more honorous of men could be corrupted by dangling the right pussy in front of them. He imagined Margaery fit that bill for most. 

Mormont shifted his weight from one leg to the other, emitting a stifled groan that only injured and old men shared in common. “Our reputation speaks for itself. Make some calls, you’ll see. We’re the fastest shipper.” 

“Make some calls?” Varys raised a questioning brow. 

Mormont pulled an unfiltered cigarette from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, speaking around it. “Meereen, Astapor, Yunkai…take your pick. We’re now _ the only _ shipper for all of those cities.” 

“Yunkai?” Petyr doubted, his smile not touching his eyes. 

The weathered man flicked the top back on his zippo and lit the cigarette, puffing smoke out around it before he nodded, “That’s what I said.” 

“Ooo!” Jaime raised a hand to cover his mouth, dimples flaring to either side as he laughed, “ _ Burn! _ ” 

Tyrion rolled his eyes at his brother. “We’ve confirmed these claims, which is why we wish to assist them with some solid ground to land on here in our city. In accordance with our own treaties, we are naturally sharing this business opportunity with you.” 

“Feel free to verify for yourself,” Mormont took a long drag off his cigarette and Petyr was certain that half of it was already gone. 

Petyr popped a mint in his mouth, needing to think. Verify, he would. However, that wasn’t an option at the moment, and to not move forward with business would only hurt his standing with the Lannisters. The situation with Bran and Tommen guaranteed that ground was shaky already. There was no other option but to go forward with things, research later, and pray that whatever damage may result was minimal. 

Jaime took a swig off the decanter and shoved his cigar back in his mouth. He took a puff off of it before he discovered it wasn’t lit and laughed before looking up and asking, “What do you say Baelish? Let’s give them some old Tyrell territory. Shit we don’t care about anyway. Let them settle in?” 

“It was promised to them anyway,” Tyrion blew a smoke circle. “Before the Tyrells died in that car crash.” 

Bomb. Car-bomb--not crash. Petyr bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at Tyrion’s attempt to play innocent. Petyr glanced to Varys, before his eyes darted to Mormont. The man stood there, holding his hands in front of him, looking ready for whatever response they gave. Whoever coached him, prepared him for all eventualities. This was too easy. Petyr didn’t appreciate the offhanded way the Lannister’s spoke, so he decided to make this a bit more uncomfortable for them. “Reasonable. I think as a gesture of good faith, we should also offer up a property that we obtained prior to the dissolution of the Tyrells.” 

Tyrion’s brows shot up and his head turned slowly to better look at him. Petyr offered him a smug smile and a slight tilt of his head. Tyrion sniffed, his expression serious, “Tyrell properties are plenty. This is just shipping we’re talking about here. Unless you were looking for more, Baelish?” 

“On the contrary. I have plenty of product coming my way, and a faster shipment would only increase profits.” Petyr thought of Serum, Oberyn’s new wonder drug. He didn’t trust this Greyscale Shipping, and this Mormont even less, especially after how quickly Varys clammed up around him. The only thing Petyr could trust was profit and there was no denying the numbers. Whoever they were, they were fast. If Sansa was really going to try this divorce bullshit on him, he’d need to be as strong and powerful as possible. Fuck the Karstarks and the Umbers, the Manderlys and anyone else she brandished before him. This wasn’t Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish’s first time to the rodeo and he would be ready for whatever she threw his way, or denied him. It was just business. 

“Oberyn’s Serum,” Tyrion smiled, practically reading his mind, at least the part Petyr would allow. “Fine. Assuming we agree to this, what will you sacrifice in  _ good faith _ ?”

The words were out before Petyr could think them aloud in his head, too worried he’d change his mind if he didn’t put voice to them instantly, “The Doghouse.” 

Varys’ head whipped around, his mouth opening a little in shock. Petyr glared at him, silently telling him to shut up and mind his own business. The intense warning of his eyes was interrupted by Jaime’s sick cackle. “Oh fuck, Baelish! Don’t pull any punches on our account!” 

Tyrion shrugged, “It’s a bar, like any other. We can easily match that rather  _ minor _ investment. Can’t we brother?” 

Jaime took another swig. “It’s not as easy as all that, now is it?” 

Mormont had been standing silently, watching the back and forth between the ruling families of the city. Petyr wondered if it was because he understood the importance of what was happening or if he was simply lost in the interchange. Regardless, the man had a talent for regurgitating back whatever he had been told, and Petyr was sure he’d do the same with this now. Jaime wiped the excess liquid from his chin with his sleeve, decanter still in hand. His eyes locked with Petyr’s and he inhaled deeply, letting his eyes flutter for a second. “Alright. Falcon’s Nest it is.” 

“Jaime?” Tyrion asked, betraying his surprise over Jaime’s choice in equal value property. 

Jaime ignored him and turned to Mormont. “There, you have what you need. Set up shop, start the shipments.” 

Mormont looked at both Jaime and Petyr as if waiting for either of them to renege. When neither did, he nodded his head and turned to depart, “I’ll keep you informed. We should have things up and running within the month.” 

He was barely in his car before Petyr heard Tyrion question Jaime in a tone more scolding than he’d typically attempt with an audience, “The Falcon’s Nest? Really?” 

Jaime stared back at Petyr, unaffected by his brother’s judgement. “It was the only way to be even-steven.”

“ _ Even-steven? _ The Falcon’s Nest is not a property you’re ever willing to bargain with,” Tyrion insisted, knowing the ins and outs of his brother’s business, having conducted it for decades. 

Jaime swallowed the last of the liquor and shook his head, “Don’t you know, little brother? The Doghouse isn’t just any bar. It’s where Baelish met his  _ Mrs.  _ Baelish.”

“Oh, shit,” Tyrion covered his face with his hand. “Then I guess it is fitting.” He uncovered his face and turned to Petyr. “Why in the hell would you ever risk a property like that?” 

“Cause they’re fighting, you idiot!” Jaime laughed. “Baelish is making poor choices cause his dick’s gonna fall off if Sansa doesn’t ride it soon.” 

Petyr hid the smile that threatened to come out, and worked to look affronted. Jaime waved his hand, “Oh, don’t look like someone pissed in your cognac! We’ve all been there, Baelish. Women make us crazy. And yet, they keep us together all the same.” He raised his hand, confessing, “I’ve fantasized about strangling Cersei countless times, but every time she says,  _ ‘harder _ ’ I just give up and pull my dick out. She always wins and my balls wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead again, mumbling, “Such a way with words...”  

Jaime threw the empty decanter in the air and pulled his pistol, emptying the clip as fast as his slowed reflexes could, treating the glass as if it were a clay pigeon. He laughed, staggering back. He missed it entirely, and it crashed on the concrete floor, shattering into a million shards. “I hate it when that happens.” Laughter infiltrated his pretend pout. 

Petyr ignored the Lannister’s reckless behavior, addressing Tyrion instead. “As your brother has indicated, this property matters to me, you better be correct in your estimations concerning Greyscale Shipping.” 

Tyrion leaned in, “I am. And believe me, I know what’s on the line if it doesn’t work out.” He turned back to Jaime and mouthed, “The fucking Falcon’s Nest?”

Jaime waved him off and threw an arm around Petyr. He took a puff off of his unlit cigar, looking at it after, disappointed yet again by the lack of tobacco he was breathing in. “Sorry about you and Sansa.” 

Petyr remained silent, watching him. He knew there was no point in playing dumb. 

Jaime laughed, “I’d try to play it down too if my wife threw a tantrum and walked out on me.” 

Petyr breathed deeply, controlling his body, refusing to let it tense under Jaime’s arm. The man may have been drunk, but he was practiced at it, and would pick up way more than other people in similar states. Jaime kept talking, “I mean, a husband should be allowed to make mistakes. How could you have known that my son would have crashed her brother? You couldn’t have! Not any more than we could have known Tommen decided to contribute to the family business on that night of all nights, without my oversight--my  _ protection _ .”

Petyr eyed him closely, determined not to slink out of his grip. They were ‘old friends’ or so they would have the world believe, and to be honest, they were probably the closest to friends either would have in the lives that they lead. Petyr forced himself to pretend some relatability. “It was one mistake!” 

Jaime chuckled, “Women, though. Fuck. They don’t let that shit go, do they? Women don’t forgive. They say they do. They don’t.” 

Petyr’s ears perked up as he asked, “Trouble in paradise, too?” 

“No, not this time.” Jaime gripped his shoulder harder, shaking it a bit as he sighed, “No, Cersei and I are strong together. Losing Tommen…” He broke off, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We’re taking care of each other.” 

Memories of fucking Sansa on the floor of a jewelry store flooded into Petyr’s head. He knew all too well how powerful of a feeling it was for husband and wife to comfort each other through the loss of a child, however old. He gave Jaime a quick nod of understanding. 

Jaime pulled the cigar from his mouth and waved it in the air as he spoke, “But we weren’t always so solid. It took years, Baelish.”

“Most things do,” Petyr responded easily. 

Jaime leaned in, whispering, “She tried to leave me once, you know. Cersei. Kicked me out and everything.”

Petyr gave a look of astonishment that wasn’t entirely false. As long as he could remember, the Lannisters were attached at the hip. People joked that they were brother and sister not only because of their similar green-eyed and fair-haired appearance, but also their like mind and tendency to protect each other from any and every possible threat the city had to offer. He knew he had to say something, so he pulled a lighter from his pocket and asked, “What did you do?”

“I refused to leave,” Jaime chuckled, spotting the lighter. Petyr sparked it and held it up. Jaime leaned forward, lining the end of his cigar up to the flame, inhaling to set it ablaze. When it was obviously lit, Jaime took a long drag off of it and exhaled slowly. “I told her she may have dumped me, but I wasn’t going anywhere. So, we lived in the same house. Her determined to be done with me, and me determined to keep her.”

“I take it, you succeeded,” Petyr smiled wryly, wishing it were that easy with Sansa. 

Jaime laughed, “Yeah, three weeks and she was mine again. Day in and day out, she watched me with the kids, saw that I was always there, and suddenly all the shit she was pissed about faded away as she realized we were more than whatever petty bullshit happened around us.”

Well that sounded ideal. Petyr had fantasized about locking Sansa up in the house until she relented and snuggled in his arms again, but knew that wasn’t the way with his wife. He’d gotten further with her in the limo by not forcing her. Locking her up at the house would only set him back. In the case of Jaime and Cersei, however upset she’d been, she still wasn’t willing to leave the house. Sansa was more than willing to leave their mansion behind; she’d even  _ escaped  _ it.

“Hear that, Baelish?” Tyrion interrupted them, smirking as he said, “Sounds like a pair of handcuffs are in order.”

Memory of the many times he’d used handcuffs on Sansa, and the few she had on him, flooded Petyr’s thoughts. He gave a cordial smile as Tyrion nudged at Jaime and said, “We must be going. You know how Cersei gets when we miss happy hour.”

Petyr made for the car, listening to Varys scurry behind him. He waited until they were both safely inside before he asked, “Who’s Jorah Mormont?” 

“The head of Greyscale Shipping,” Varys answered quickly. 

“Sure. But who is he to you, Varys?” Petyr stared straight ahead. When no answer came, Petyr allowed an edge to creep in his throat as he threatened, “Either tell me, or make me find out. Which way do you think will cost you less appendages?” 

Varys head lowered and he sighed, “It won’t matter. As soon as you know, I’m dead.” 

Petyr’s head turned to face him slowly, in rapt attention. “Talk _ , now _ .”

“It was a mistake, a simple miscalculation.” Varys shook his head, his voice almost frantic as one hand picked at the other. “She wanted someone to take care of Drogo’s wife for what she did to you. Bronn wouldn’t do it…” 

He didn’t have to ask who _ she  _ was, knowing instantly who Varys was referring to. “Yes?” Petyr repeated Varys’ words in his head as he tried to piece together whatever dark secret Varys was keeping. 

“So I found someone who owed a favor. Someone from the north. One of her own people.” Varys tried to hide the panic in his voice, but it was futile. “I paid his debt to the Tyrells and told him he owed us.” 

The dots were connecting quickly as Petyr closed his eyes and remembered where else he’d heard the name,  _ Mormont _ . “You had Jorah Mormont kill Dany and her baby.” 

“No!” Varys protested. “I had him kill Dany. I left no instructions regarding the baby.” 

Petyr ignored him. “And now, six--almost  _ seven _ years later, he’s the head of Greyscale Shipping.  _ The _ Greyscale Shipping that conspired with the Tyrells against us, and now appears to be in quite tight with the Lannisters. Enough to call a meeting, for Jaime to put up The Falcon’s Nest.” Who the hell was coaching him? Who was his wife? What woman would marry a baby-killer like Mormont?

“It appears so,” Varys answered quietly. 

Petyr allowed a couple of minutes to pass before he asked, “Do you still have your piano wire?” 

Varys gaped at him. “Yeah, somewhere. Why?” 

Petyr ignored his question, asking one of his own, “How long have we worked together? Ten years?” 

“About that,” Varys stared back. 

Petyr turned to look him in the eye, “And how many times in those ten years, would you say you’ve fucked up to this degree?” 

Varys blinked, at a loss for words before he shook his head. “I haven’t. Just this. Just Jorah Mormont.” 

Petyr nodded, “Once in ten years is forgivable, provided you make it up to me.” 

“Make it up to you?” Varys swallowed. 

“I’ll let you know when I decide how. Expect to get your hands dirty,” Petyr promised. 

The look of relief on Varys’ face was priceless. Truth be told, Varys had been such a strong support to Petyr in Sansa’s absence that it was worth forgiving the man a mistake made years ago. The issue was only so severe because of how hard Sansa had taken the murder of the infant along with its mother. It wasn’t preferable, but it wasn’t anything Petyr would lose sleep over. Sansa viewed it differently, and he could only attribute that to her own maternal instincts. Her sentimentality could be forgiven. Other things, not so much. 

Petyr worked to keep his anger in check when she rang the doorbell to their home that night. It was the first time she’d been there since she left and she would add insult to injury by ringing the damn doorbell? He curled his grimace into a smile as he opened the door and caught Elenei up in his arms. 

“Daddy!” She exclaimed as she burrowed into his neck. 

Petyr hugged her close. Sansa looked as beautiful as ever, holding Durran in his carseat. She gave Petyr a polite smile as she waited for him to take Durran from her. Petyr wouldn’t make this quick and easy for her. He knew why she was there and he was determined to draw this out. Slowly, he took Durran from her, leaning down into the seat to coo and smile at his son. She stood awkwardly in the doorway, the bright blues of her eyes darkening. Was it in annoyance? Or were her eyes dilating, loving him for loving their son? 

“Elenei, can you give Daddy and I a minute?” Sansa smiled. 

“Aren’t you coming in?” Elenei asked. 

“No sweetheart, Mum needs to go stay with Uncle Bran.” 

Petyr hated how convenient of an excuse Bran had become. Apparently, Elenei did too. She groaned, “But he’s sleeping forever!” 

Sansa glared at Petyr as she said, “Hopefully he’ll wake up soon.” 

He refused to avert his gaze. To do so would be admitting some fault and he couldn’t let himself travel down that road. He set Durran’s car seat on the floor beside him as he spoke to Elenei, “Go on, Princess. Let Mum and Dad talk before she has to go.” 

“Fiiiiine!” Elenei groaned and turned quickly to stomp off. 

“Elenei Baelish!” Petyr called out. “Give your mother a hug goodbye.” 

Sansa crouched down and wrapped her arms around Elenei, whispering her love into her ear as she did. Elenei pouted, “I love you too.” 

Sansa slowly rose as Elenei scampered off, and straightened the front of her coat. She was uncomfortable. Good. “Petyr--”

“I wondered if you’d ever set foot in  _ our  _ house again.” Petyr wanted to hurt her. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Petyr--”

“I mean, after the way you left it…” He added for good measure. 

She opened her eyes and hardened her voice, “You’ll notice I haven’t exactly entered it now.”

Touche.

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” He felt his jaw flex. “I’ve also noticed that for someone who doesn’t want to come in, you’re lingering.” 

“Yes, I need to tell you something.” 

He crossed his arms, knowing exactly what to expect, bracing himself for it. Even in this most protective stance, he still felt vulnerable and wondered if divorce was something one could ever really adequately fortify their defenses for. “Go on.”

Her eyes softened a little as she stared back at him. Was she having second thoughts? Was it too hard? She lacked the words to come out and say it, and instead reached into her bag and pulled out a large manilla envelope. Petyr looked at it and then back to her, “What’s this?” 

“Take it.” 

Petyr shook his head, refusing to let go of himself. “What is it?” He would make her say it aloud, say it to him. 

She took a breath and then squared her shoulders, looking him directly in the eye. Her words were quick, sharp, “Divorce papers. I need you to sign them.” 

“That’s it?” He coughed a laugh, feeling tears sting his eyes. He dug his fingertips into his ribs, keeping himself from losing it in front of her. “That’s how you tell me you want to throw our life away?”

She took a step towards him, lifting the papers, her voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t want to fight with you. Please.” There was a slight quiver to her chin that anyone other than he would have missed, so muted was the gesture. 

“You said you just needed time to think, to piece through your feelings.” Judging by her emotional display in the hotel room, she didn’t want to do this. Yet there she was, passing him a large manilla envelope with a small stack of papers that disavowed him from her life all the same. Petyr cracked his knuckles under his arms, feeling a quiet rage replace the pain. “And you came this conclusion? Eleven days of thinking brought you to this? Who’ve you been talking to?” He asked, knowing full well who. His growing fury forced him to ignore the part of the video feed where she voiced her own feelings. Why should he pay any consideration to feelings she herself did not? He turned on Robb because it was easier to hate the Stark who never totally took to him, than it was the wounded wife. That wasn’t to say Petyr’s increasing anger wasn’t allowing anyone and everyone a place in the spotlight of hate. 

“We have businesses to run,” she answered weakly. 

Petyr scoffed, “So this is a business decision is it?” 

“Isn’t everything?” She countered quickly, finding her voice again. 

“Don’t do that.” He shook his head. She was obviously finding strength in detachment, and he didn’t want her to be strong. He didn’t feel strong, why should she? “Don’t reduce what we had to _ just business. _ ”

“Are you telling me you aren’t thinking of business right now? Spare me the high and mighty act. I’m not the villain for thinking outside of our marriage anymore than you are.” She growled, “I know you met with the Lannisters tonight.”

She didn’t mention Mormont. Had her spy not seen the strange man? Petyr prayed they hadn’t. Sansa finding out about the head of Greyscale Shipping was the last thing he needed. Varys fucked up, and Jorah Mormont was still walking the world. Petyr would play nice with him until the opportune moment, and then he’d end him for causing Sansa so many tears over the years. She’d never have to know about Greyscale Shipping, Jorah Mormont, or Varys’ unfortunate miscalculation. By some miracle, she hadn’t placed blame on Petyr’s right hand man, but he knew if she became aware that the offensive ‘hitman-for-hire’ was still alive, and she knew how Varys came to choose him, her feelings may have soured. 

It was more fortuitous if Jorah Mormont met his end before Sansa ever found out about him, and the whole situation resolved itself. Deciding to deflect his own guilty conscience, Petyr curled his lips into a delighted grin. “Having me followed?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’d be stupid not to, and it has nothing to do with pining for you.” 

Petyr smirked to himself, choosing then to vividly remember the way she tearfully admitted she still loved him. He felt more confident pressing her, “You may be angry. And you may have convinced yourself that this is the only way to handle the situation. But, you still love me.” 

She stood silent. Her eyes looking into his, showed a glimpse of the storm within. He waited, wondering if she would deny it. It would be the smart play: stand strong, stare him straight in the eye with a vacant expression and tell him that she didn’t. Sansa wasn’t doing that, however. She kept her composure, despite her emotions clearly running rampant within. Good. He wanted her to feel it. 

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she extended the envelope again. “Sign.”

Petyr leaned back, keeping his distance from the offensive document. “I don’t think I will.” 

She blinked at him, and then pursed her lips. “I am doing you and the marriage we shared the respect of meeting you face to face to request this. Please respect my wishes and sign.” 

Petyr laughed, “So I should thank you for hand delivering these?” 

“I could have sent anyone else,” she scowled. 

“And I could have set them on fire along with the papers.” 

“Jesus Christ, Petyr!” She gnarled as she threw the envelope on the floor. Petyr fought the urge to kick it back over the threshold, knowing it would be too childish of a maneuver. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t feel perfect. Sansa took a step forward and got in his face, “Planning on setting  _ me _ on fire now?”

He kept his feet rooted in place, and his fists under his arms, exercising restraint he didn’t know he had. Petyr allowed himself to lean forward so that his face was inches from her. “I’d love to make you burn, just not in the same way you're proposing.” 

He’d expected her to roll her eyes, screw her face in disgust, and storm off. She didn’t. Instead, she stood there, staring back into his eyes, so close he could feel her breath against his lips. It would have been so easy to snap the leash he kept himself on and wrap his arms around her, kissing them back to bliss. Fuck, didn’t he want to do just that-- _ ached _ to. The strain of holding himself in check was taking its toll on him. They way she searched his eyes, her breathing hitching as she did, he wondered if it would be her that broke her invisible bounds to pounce on him. He imagined falling back against the doorframe holding her thighs securely around him as he tasted her lips.

Petyr held himself, vibrating with the need to close the gap. His eyes screamed at her,  _ Come on, Sansa! You love me! Kiss me, stay with me! We’ll burn those papers together. _

She blinked a few times and straightened herself, whatever spell she was under broken as she repeated, “ _ Sign _ .”

She turned away from him, making to leave, when his arm shot out and caught her. The sensation of her smooth skin under his palm encouraged the soreness he’d been learning to live with. With such a firm grip on her, it would be so easy to enact any one of his fantasies, but he knew this wasn’t the time for that. She shut her own feelings down so she could walk away from him. If she couldn’t convince herself to kiss him, he knew he didn’t stand a chance of convincing her either. 

Sansa looked down at his hand and then back up at him, with warning in her eyes. Petyr spoke much more casually than he felt, “Alright.” 

A mixture of relief and disappointment filled her eyes as she said, “Thank you.”

“ _ After _ we’ve finished our sessions” Petyr grinned. 

“Sessions?” Sansa’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” 

“Counseling.”

“What?  _ Therapy? _ You hate therapy,” Sansa shook her head, completely sideswiped by this new development. 

Petyr let memory of some of his more deeper conversations in life direct his response. “There’s something to be said for allowing a third party facilitate communication.”

“I’m not going to counseling, Petyr.” Sansa insisted. 

“Check the prenup. Clause twenty-one C says that in the event that a petition for divorce is not mutually agreed upon, x amount of couples counseling sessions must be completed prior to finalizing divorce proceedings, thus indicating a reasonable attempt at reconciliation.” He felt almost giddy as he watched her jaw drop. “Or else the assets aren’t released to either party.” 

Sansa said nothing as she stared at him, though he could hear the grind of her teeth as he added, “It seemed silly at the time we were drawing it up, but I’m pleased Barbrey insisted on the clause regardless.” 

“How many sessions?”

“Look it up,” he replied. Petyr took pleasure in the fact that she would be pouring over the same document he and Varys spent a day studying. 

She fumed, “Fuck you, Petyr.” 

He chuckled victoriously, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you pick the therapist! Make the appointment and tell me where to be. And Sansa, feel free to take your time deciding, it will only prolong the process.”

Sansa balled her fists and growled something unintelligible before she spat out, “I’m moving back to Kingsroad, tonight!” 

Her old house. 

They’d kept it for sentimental purposes, and loaned it out to Robb and Talisa occasionally when they visited. Her decision to stay at a hotel told Petyr her rage wasn’t permanent. Even the divorce papers seemed less real when he knew she was still at the hotel, declining to use a perfectly good property. Before he could make any comment, she’d whirled around and practically ran down the walkway. Petyr kicked the papers back over the threshold before he lifted Durran’s car seat up and laughed as he called out, “I hear there are a lot of great counselors up that way!”

Durran smiled up at him, completely ignorant to the back and forth between his parents, focused only on Petyr’s familiar smug smile. “Dadadadada.” 

Petyr pulled him out of his seat and snuggled him close, making his voice sing-song as he cooed to him. “Mummy tried to leave Daddy, yes she did!” 

Durran smiled wide and kicked his feet, slapping his hands on Petyr’s shoulder. He kissed his son’s forehead and kept the excitement in his voice as he said, “And Daddy wouldn’t stand for it, would he?” He bounced him a little as he walked and smiled, “No he wouldn’t!” 

Petyr felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out as he neared the sound of Elenei raising cain in the living room. He punched in his code one-handed as he smiled at Durran, who was running his fingers over his goatee. He remembered Elenei at this age; she was fascinated by the texture of his facial hair compared to his skin, also. Petyr looked down at Varys’ name and tapped the message with his thumb. It was only two words, but the impact of them was staggering all the same. Petyr stopped mid-bounce when he read,  _ Bran’s awake. _

 


	9. Anger: A Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you it was a reflex.

Sansa put one foot in front of the other, listening to the sound of her heels clicking harshly on the hardwood floor. Each step, thundered down, promised a violent end to whatever lay at its destination. She wished. No, not really. Fuck, Petyr had that way with her.

She had been so angry and hurt--and still was. Yet here she was, on her way to mandated counseling. The only thought prevailing in her mind was the memory of the triumphant look in his eyes when he declared she had to attend or forfeit a fortune. Was this a game to him? Did he not know what she was going through? She sure as hell knew what she was putting him through. She’d seen it clear as day on his face, the tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks as they stood inches apart, nothing but a stack of documents between them.

Knowing that he’d be heartbroken, she offered up the kids. Even through her own pain and her determination to follow through with the hardest decision of her life, she was thinking of him, trying to lessen his pain. What was Petyr doing? Selfishly thinking only of himself, acting the child kicking papers out of the house and using contract loopholes against her. The man was fourteen years her senior, she had mistakenly thought that would mean perhaps he’d understand the importance of maturity, especially in regards to the end of their relationship.

Again she asked herself, was this just sport to him? Their family was dividing and she was trying to at least ensure things were done so cleanly. With the love they shared, she felt they owed each other that. Unfortunately, Petyr was acting every bit his reputation as Littlefinger boasted. For once, Robb was starting to make some sense. Perhaps her Petyr was gone to her and she was left to deal with a mad mob boss.

Sansa inhaled deeply, pulling her hair behind her ears as she did. If that’s who she was dealing with, she’d be ready for him. Petyr may be Littlefinger, but Sansa was the head of the Stark Wolf Pack in a territory that remembered everything and forgave little. Steeling herself as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she pictured Bran in his hospital bed.

She’d gotten the call immediately after she left Petyr the night before, but by the time she got to the hospital, breaking land-speed records to get there, they were not allowing visitors. Jon had been with him when he woke up and said that Bran opened his eyes and pulled at his tubing, screaming for Tommen. Sansa could only imagine the hell her little brother had been living in, trapped in a motionless body.

Rage pulled every muscle in her body taut and she lifted her chin, erasing any trace of vulnerability. If Petyr thought he was clever, forcing her into therapy to delay the inevitable, then he was in for a rude surprise. She was determined to go, wait out the clock and be done with it.

When she opened the door, the smell of leather and greenery hit her. It was a large enough office, though not big by any means. Petyr sat on a two seater couch across from an older, stouter man who rose slowly out of his seat. His smile was warm as he extended his palm to her, “You must be Sansa.”

She gave him a polite smile and shook his hand. There was no need to be rude to him, she’d engaged his services after all. She had Petyr to thank for that. She had been centimeters from his lips, breathing in the mint on his breath, so close to letting go of all self-control. It would be so easy to sway, give herself a nudge forward into him, pretend the resulting kiss was an accident if she had to. Sansa had to dig her nails into the palm of her hand to keep from doing it, keep from giving into her own desire to taste and feel him again.

She couldn’t think like that and she knew it. He’d hurt her so deeply. She couldn’t let her mind drift to memories of their better times, knowing the feel of them would only sap her of her resolve. It was with the pain of her own nails embedded in her flesh that she was able to reel herself back and whirl around. She’d barely noticed him kick the envelop behind her when she’d pulled the phone from her pocket and sought a licensed family and marriage counselor. She clicked the link to call the first private pay option she saw and made an appointment with Dr. Davos Seaworth. He answered, sounding a little startled by how quickly she wanted to be seen but accommodated her regardless.

Sansa hung up, pleased with herself for securing something for the very next day, especially after Petyr taunted her to take her time. No sooner had she gotten into her car then her phone rang with Arya’s familiar icon. Bran was awake and suddenly nothing else mattered. That was, until, she spent the night in the hospital only to be denied the chance to see him. Not seeing any end to her sitting around in sight, she’d decided to go through with the appointment to get the formality out of the way. She’d had enough sitting around in hospital chairs watching and waiting anxiously for a doctor to keep telling her they weren’t done testing him. It was wearing on all the Starks and a break from the hospital was looking more and more appealing.

“Dr. Seaworth.” She acknowledged him before she crossed the room, taking a seat next to Petyr. She’d barely touched the seat before she quickly realized her error. There were two other empty seats around the room that she could have chosen. It was just so natural to sit next to Petyr, as if her body was acting on muscle memory alone.

She tried not smell the cologne that filled her nostrils, or feel the grin that grew next to her as she stared straight ahead at the therapist. He nodded his head and said, “Davos, please. Mr. Baelish here, was just filling me in a bit.”

Of course Petyr would show up early to the appointment to bend their therapist’s ear. She’d be upset by this, if she didn’t expect it on some level. “I bet he has been.”

Petyr smirked beside her, holding his tongue. Davos gestured towards her, “He was telling me that you are requesting a divorce, and that the feelings are not mutual.”

“Did he tell you that couples counseling is a condition of our prenup?” Sansa crossed her legs, and held her hands in her lap, keeping herself away from Petyr as much as she could, being that she was sitting beside him. Damn her body’s natural response to be near him. Seven years ensured their familiarity would be a hard habit to break.

Davos nodded. “And that’s not something you appreciate, I take it?”

She refused to look at Petyr, feeling how delighted he was. She wasn’t sure if it was because he’d caught her, forced her to do something she didn’t want to. Or, if it was because they were sharing the space of a couch together again. “Do you ever have people come to you for counseling as a condition of probation?”

He nodded, “When my focus was in substance abuse. Since moving to marriage and family as my specialty, I haven’t.”

“Well, this is no different for me.”

Petyr shook his head beside her. “Don’t do that. Don’t liken this to that.”

“Why? Does it upset you?” She finally turned to face him. “Want to call it quits and leave?”

His eyes narrowed at her. “Not at all.”

It wouldn’t be that easy, and she knew it. At least she was able to wipe the grin from his face and that felt good. She’d been struggling with the decision of whether or not to listen to the side of her heart that loved her husband or the side that loved herself. This was not cute or funny, and damn him for being so entertained by it.

Davos cleared his throat in the silence that followed. “I’m going to assume that when you came to the decision to file for divorce, other measures had already been taken to save the marriage?”

“Measures?” Petyr asked.

“You know, trust exercises, date nights, etcetera.” Davos waved his hand in the air.

Sansa laughed, “ _Trust?_ ”

Petyr ignored her, “We’ve done date night since our daughter was born.”

“Were you experiencing difficulty in your relationship at that time?” Davos pulled out a notepad and pen.

“We’ve always felt it important to pay attention to each other as husband and wife, not just our children’s mother and father,” Petyr explained. There was a distinct note of pride in his voice that grated on Sansa. How dare he act as though their relationship were perfect, after what he’d done and also failed to do?

Davos turned to her, “I noticed you had a reaction to the word: _Trust_. Would you care to elaborate on that?”

How could she explain to him that the word trust had no business in their line of work and therefore no business in their lives together? They’d learned to live without trust, and still built something that felt solid--at the time, anyway. Whatever it was they had, Petyr betrayed it. She ignored the little voice in her head that asked how he could have betrayed a trust that wasn’t there in the first place. Sansa turned the feelings over and over in her head trying to make sense of it from the very moment Petyr told her he’d gone against her, lied to her.

It was too difficult to explain and she herself didn’t even understand it. Frustrated at her inability to articulate the storm of emotions within her, she shook her head, “Not particularly.” She decided it was okay not to delve into the nitty gritty aspects of their relationship with a perfect stranger. Her decision was made easier when she thought of Petyr pretending that they lived the perfect marriage. They had their ups and downs like everyone else, and for him to act like they were the Waltons was just more of his denial. Or perhaps he didn’t truly want to get into things too deep either? If this was just a game to him, it was meant only to prolong the divorce and make her squirm, not actually improve anything. That fucker.  

Another moment of silence passed and Sansa twitched with anger at Petyr’s smugness beside her. Everything in the way he held himself screamed that he was winning some sort of competition. Davos crossed out some things on his notebook and said, “So here we are: divorce or stay together? It’s so black or white of a concept that it turns into a bit of a power struggle. Doesn’t it?”

Did he too see the game Petyr was playing? Sansa spoke to Davos, enjoying that Petyr could hear every word. “There is no power struggle here. My husband is the most powerful man in half the city. I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.” She shot him a glare as she quipped, “See how easily he bends me to his will?”

Davos smiled at Sansa. “Do you always disempower yourself like that?”

Petyr turned his head to hide his smug smile behind his hand. Sansa wasn’t sure if she should be appreciative of his not-so-subtle attempt to hide his amusement, or hate him more for it. Petyr could have contained himself. Covering his smile was dramatic and meant purely to tease. This was not a game and she didn’t appreciate him treating it like it was one.

Before she could say anything about it, Davos turned his attention to him, “And do you always let her fluff your ego like that? No confidence of your own?”

It was Sansa’s turn to grin like a cat drunk on cream. Unlike Petyr, she made no false gesture as if to hide her pleasure. She couldn’t help the satisfaction she got from watching his plan backfire. She wondered if she was using this to keep from worrying for Bran.

Davos interrupted her thoughts, “Look, I wasn’t born yesterday. When the Baelishes show up on your doorstep asking for couples counseling, it’s a hundred percent guarantee that your practice is over. I’m a dead man. That much is obvious.”

“Men are often more brave when they know their life is on the line,” Petyr threatened.

Sansa shook her head, “No. I called him. He’s safe. I will put one of my men on him.”

“One of your men?” Petyr cocked his head at her in question. “Who are you referring to?”

“It’s none of your business.” She crossed her arms.

“All business is my business,” Petyr fumed.

Sansa threw a hand up, “Not anymore. That’s what divorce means, Petyr.”

“ _Who?_ ” He growled.

“Why? Jealous?” She shot back.

“Should I be?” Petyr leaned closer to her. His lips pursed as he said, “I know you’ve been meeting with Oberyn.”

Twice for business, and despite his flirtatious demeanor, their meetings stayed strictly for business. “And as I told you last night, I know you’ve met with the Lannisters.” She rolled her eyes. “We’ve already established that we’re both smart enough to have each other followed. That doesn’t mean either of us are actually entitled to know the inner workings of the other’s business.”

“Just tell me it’s not an Umber or a Karstark,” Petyr sighed. “If you’re determined to assure the good doctor’s safety, they would definitely cost him his life.”

Sansa shook her head, “No, not an Umber or Karstark. They aren’t reliable.” Then her brow furrowed, “Wait, why would you think I’d be working with the Umbers or Karstarks?”

Petyr inhaled, “Because they are northern families, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you were listening to Robb more while he’s in town.”

“What would Robb have to say about anything? More importantly, why would I listen to him?” She played dumb, trying to figure out just how much Petyr knew about the inner workings of her family and her business.

He chuckled, “You wouldn’t. It’s just that Robb is the only one who knows how things ran under your parents’ rule. It makes sense that you’d tap his knowledge.”

It was a bit unsettling thinking of how much Petyr had learned about their dynamics in seven years. She cleared her throat. “You aren’t wrong, but we never gave them anything important before. I didn’t see a reason to start now.”

“No, _we_ didn’t.”

She sat caught in his meaningful gaze. Had she said we? That was a slip, clearly. She hadn’t meant to imply anything, and yet it felt so natural to say, that she hadn’t noticed it. He had, however, and the hungry way he stared at her promised he wasn’t about to let it go.

Davos cleared his throat. “In light of the fact that you two may be the last couple I counsel, I don’t see any reason to mince words. There is something fundamentally wrong in your relationship, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

Petyr sat up straighter, looking at Davos. “Yes, lets.”

Sansa looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her ring. ‘Getting to it’ was the last thing she wanted to do. Her emotions overtook her each time she had to deal with Petyr. She was always a wreck long after they parted, analyzing and picking apart every moment of their interactions, trying to find meaning. When her brain wasn’t working in overdrive, her heart picked up the slack, missing him. Missing him and hating him.

Davos’ voice pulled her attention back only slightly, “Gottman says--”

“Who’s Gottman?” Petyr asked quickly. He may as well have had a notebook in hand too.

Davos waved his hand dismissively, “He’s the foremost authority on marriage counseling, done a lot of research in it.”

“You’re not the authority?” Petyr squinted at him and then turned to Sansa, “This is who you chose?”

Sansa hated how he judged her choice in therapist, or perhaps just that he judged her choice at all. Knowing it would shut him up, she smirked and replied, “He was the quickest appointment.”

Petyr pursed his lips and exhaled audibly through his nose.

“Gottman’s in his seventies and doesn’t take clients anymore. Sorry you’re left with me. I’ve studied all of his text thoroughly and attended every one of his conferences since receiving my license.” He gave his own sigh, and an offended, if not tired expression as he continued, “Now, if you’ve finished questioning my capability to effectively counsel you, I’ll continues to say that Gottman found most of the time couples conflicts are about perpetual issues that never get solved.”

Sansa let that swirl around in her brain. _Perpetual issues?_ Had they had any? It wasn’t anything she’d ever really thought about. They fit so perfectly together, despite all the obstacles. Each time one needed something, the other gave it willingly. They were only struggling now because Petyr stepped out of their usual dynamic by lying to her, so easily too. It wasn’t like him not to include her, and it hurt to feel so left out by him. His behavior had been so against how they normally treated each other, could he really be that surprised that she recoiled and pushed him away.

She’d been thinking about his words so intently, hoping to find some miracle answer for their issues that she’d been missing the rest of what he was saying. She blinked and listened closely as he expanded, “Those issues usually relate to at least one of these three subjects: money, parenting, and sex. Which do you fight about?”

Sansa glanced over at Petyr, his smile so damn smug that she wanted to scream. Dr. Davos Seaworth was expounding legitimate knowledge on them and Petyr didn’t care to take a moment to actually process it, see how it related to them. He definitely wasn’t taking this seriously, that asshole. Any ounce of give she had abandoned her, and she felt herself close off to him and the experience as a whole.

They spoke at the same time, so perfectly in unison that they almost didn’t hear each other utter the opposite responses. Sansa knew his reply would be that none of those things were the problem. She was wasn’t surprised to see him crane his neck to look at her once he registered her say, “All of it.”

“What?” He gaped at her. “ _All_ of it?”

She held a straight face, maintaining her lie. She didn’t like how easily just sitting near him had been drawing her closer to him. Did her feelings swiftly stop being hurt just because she could smell his cologne? No. Did she suddenly feel less betrayed in her relationship with him because she could watch the rise and fall of his chest out of the corner of her eye? No. Did she no longer need him to take some accountability for lying right to her face and excluding her with her own family, because the sound of his voice so close to her ear that it felt like home? Hell no.

He wouldn’t relent, addressing the first option immediately, “When has money ever been a problem?”

Knowing the only way to keep him far away so she could maintain her own dignity, she kept up the facade. “Right now.” She gestured around the office and emphasized, “Are we not here now simply because you wrote a prenup that would deny me money if we didn’t go through this?”

Before Petyr could speak, Davos clarified, “But not during the course of your marriage?”

“What?”

“Money was not an issue between the two of you prior to the request for divorce?” Davos waved his pen in the air.

Sansa shrugged, “Well no, of course not.”

Petyr smiled proudly, obviously enjoying her being called out on her fib. Davos ignored him and asked, “What about the children?”

“Yeah, what about the children?” Petyr asked her, taking offense.

Sansa shook her head, and picked at her skirt. There never were any real parenting points of contention; they’d both just always agreed on everything having to do with the children. She needed to find something to say so she lifted her head and kept her eyes on Davos as she weakly gave, “He works too much.”

Petyr laughed, outright. “Lots of husbands work, and you’re not exactly a homebody yourself.”

Sansa scrambled for something else to say, but found nothing. The children really weren’t any more of an issue for them than money was. “Perhaps we should move on?” Davos offered.

Petyr smirked. “Yes, Sansa. I believe sex is last, so go ahead and tell him what’s wrong in that department.”

She suddenly wanted to spin her ring around on her finger and slap him across the cheek with it. She was making the difficult decision to turn her back on her vows and dissolve their relationship, and he was too busy getting off on how uncomfortable she was. It was with this feeling of indignation that she decided to piss him off just as much as he did her. She acted nonchalant as she shrugged and said, “He’s selfish in bed.”

She could see his jaw drop out of the corner of her eye before he ejected from his seat and stood up before her, “ _Bullshit!_ ” Petyr lost all composure, growling in her face, “When have I ever--”

Sansa fought every bone in her body not to engage him. She’d said it to teach him not to be such a smug bastard about things that really mattered. Sansa looked past him as she pursed her lips and explained to Davos, “He has zero regard for safe words.”

Petyr threw his arms up in the air and exclaimed, “That was ONE TIME! And I told you it was a reflex.”

“Ha!” She laughed, refusing to look at him.

Davos leaned forward in his chair, “Okay, okay. I feel as though I should weigh in here. Sansa, it seems like you aren’t being entirely truthful.”

Sansa looked affronted. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“If he isn’t, I am.” Petyr barked.

Davos explained, “All I’m saying is that, it appears as though you are pointing out things that aren’t problematic to avoid working on whatever the real issue is.”

Sansa stood up, shaking her head in disgust as she said, “Of course you would make me the bad guy. I’m the one who wants a divorce, so naturally I’m the scum of the Earth.”

Davos rose out of his chair, his face stern. “Now, I’m not saying that. I am saying that you’re looking for issues that aren’t there, perhaps so you don’t have to say what is.”

“I’ve already said it,” Sansa tightened her fists. “He doesn’t care!”

“What don’t I care about?” Petyr took a step towards her. “Bran? You think because he got hurt, that I don’t care about him?”

“ _Paralyzed_ , Petyr. Don’t water it down so you can feel better about the choice you made,” Sansa snarled. “And that’s not what I was referring to.”

“Who’s Bran?” Davos asked, picking up his notebook to hold while he stood. “Perhaps we should take a seat?”

“It wasn’t?” Petyr cocked his head, ignoring Davos. “Then what is it that you’re so upset about?”

Fury ran through her, boiling her body from the inside out. She could barely get the words out through her clenched teeth, “Seven- _fucking_ -years together, Petyr. And you can’t possibly conceive of what you did that would ‘upset’ me?”

“I don’t want to play a guessing game. Just tell me,” he demanded, rubbing his brow in irritation.

“Oh really? You don’t want to play a game. What the hell was all of this then?” Sansa exclaimed. “You know what? Go fuck yourself, Petyr.”

“No. _Communicate_ , Sansa,” he countered quickly, stepping closer.

“Okay, now.” Davos waved his notebook, trying to signal them to cool down.

She turned to face Petyr full on, the heat of his body rolling off onto hers as she stared back into the green pools of his eyes, radiating nothing but rage. “You want me to spell this out for you? I don’t know what I should be more offended by, that you don’t know me after seven years, or that you clearly don’t listen to me, because I’ve already--”

He cut her off by leaning forward, attempting to close the gap between them. He was too slow however, and she swerved out of the way. His frown deepened as she screwed her face in disgust. She took a step back, eyeing the wild look in his eyes as she spoke to Davos, “I think that will be all for today, don’t you?”

“It was quite a start,” Davos nodded. “Would you like to schedule your next appointment?”

Petyr still looked ready to murder and Sansa couldn’t deny she felt similarly. She gripped the doorknob behind her as she answered hastily, “We’ll be in touch.”

She shoved herself through the door and listened to her heels thunder as she flew down the hall to the entryway. She had to get out of there, away from him. She was still catching her breath when she felt a vibration and looked down at her phone. Petyr messaged, _We can exchange the kids at 2:00. I’ll bring them to work._

Relieved that he’d stuck to the topic of their children, Sansa closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the headrest, trying to compose herself. It was no use, tears streaked down her cheeks defiantly. She waved her driver on through the partition, hating the display of weakness she couldn’t temper. Only Petyr Baelish could do this to her. Even the goddamned Hound who murdered her mother before her very eyes couldn’t reduce her to such a useless puddle of emotion.

That was different, and she knew it. She never loved the Hound, never had to struggle with the warring emotions of both wanting to strangle and snuggle him, to cause him pain while also buffering whatever blows she dealt him. The Hound was easy: swallow her feelings back and keep her eyes on the prize, the more damage inflicted the better. Petyr on the other hand, created such conflict in her heart and in her head that any interaction with him only irritated her wounds until they bled all over again.

Sansa looked at her phone again, reading his message over. If he was going to exchange the kids from work, that meant she could stay at Stark Naked and he’d stay in his office. Jon would escort them between the two. Petyr had demanded from day one that when the children moved from one parent to the other, he be able to see her have the kids. He didn’t trust that something wouldn’t happen enroute, and felt the safest seeing her lay hands on them directly. She agreed with that condition, seeing the practicality in it, and then immediately realized what that meant. She would have to keep seeing him, keep having her wounds torn open, and keep patching herself up.

She caught him on the technicality that between his office and Stark Naked, he could still see her receive the children. At the time, she thought she was clever and would use that to lessen the pain of a face to face meeting. Seeing him specifically request it for the exchange stung a little. She’d rattled him, pissed him off enough to actually want some space between them. Petyr never wanted that.

Sansa waved her driver towards Kingsroad. She had time to change into something more comfortable before she had to be available for the kids, and she wanted to try the hospital again. She hated that she wore Petyr’s favorite lingerie under a dress that she knew would catch his eye. Sansa cursed herself as she slid into her heels, hating that she was dressing up for a man she knew she needed to let go. It was Petyr, though. She always wanted to look her best for him, and suspected that would never change, not even twenty years from then.

Kingsroad felt strange and awkward to her. Robb and Talisa took the master bedroom because that’s where she’d put them up when they flew in. Sansa didn’t want to oust them from the room that used to be hers. What did that room matter to her now? She’d never shared it with anyone. If anything, walking into it would only remind her of her youngers self standing in front of her closet as Petyr ripped every bit of lingerie out and burned them on her grill. Without realizing it, she started smiling at the memory of an amazing night with an amazing man, when they had their whole future ahead of them. She wondered if she knew then what she knew now, would she still agree to share her morning ritual with him?

A quick thought to Elenei and Durran had her shaking her head out of that possibility. Her babies were perfect and she wouldn’t have them without Petyr. She would always love him for that. In truth, she’d always love him for a lot of things. After Sansa changed into jeans and a t-shirt, she put her hair up in a ponytail and slid a pair of flats on.

The ride to the hospital was quick, but not nearly enough. Sansa wanted-- _needed_ to see Bran. She was irritated that Jon got to see him wake and she hadn’t, but told herself to just be thankful someone had been able to confirm his health.

When she arrived, Melisandre was there directing her men into Bran’s room. Sansa stepped in front of her, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Police investigation.” The bottle-red’s words were short and to the point.

Sansa laughed, “Where’s Stannis?”

“This does not require the attention of a _commissioner,_ ” Melisandre smiled as she emphasized Stannis’ rank.

“But it does a homicide detective?” Sansa challenged, arching an eyebrow.

Melisandre smirked, “Did not a man die?”

“I thought this was ruled an accident,” Robb asked from Sansa’s other side.

She’d barely noticed him approach, but was thankful he had. They both stared at Melisandre expectantly until she shrugged and said, “It’s standard procedure to question any possible witnesses. Your brother is a witness. Now that he’s awake.”

First doctors, then police. Deciding that Melisandre’s murder would be too complicated to cover up in this particular setting, Sansa was about to call Stannis, when she noticed the time. She’d stayed at Kingsroad for too long, changing and wanting to spruce up a room for Elenei. Her daughter had never been to Kingsroad, as there’d never been a reason to. Whenever family visited, they always came to the main house.

Sansa worked tirelessly to make a room more inviting, knowing Elenei would just crawl into bed with her and Durran anyway. That wasn’t the point. If she was to be moving back to that house, she needed her daughter to feel welcomed in it. To her credit, she got a good deal accomplished before she passed the rest of the job off to Talisa and vowed to hire some help for the house.

She stared at the time on the phone and retreated, promising herself that it was only for now. Jon instinctively followed, asking on the way to car why she wasn’t putting up more of a resistance. He knew that she could call Stannis and have Melisandre removed in an instant, or she could have called Bronn and had Melisandre removed permanently. That would definitely chap the commissioner's hide, losing his long time affair.

Jon listened to her explanation and nodded his agreement that they would bring the children to the hospital the minute they received them from Petyr. Elenei would be dying to see her Uncle Bran, and Sansa refused to be put off a moment longer. Sansa closed her eyes as the car sped along, feeling secure that it was Jon driving. Drivers were fine, but there was something inherently safe about having her loyal cousin behind the wheel like in the old days. That was, until her phone rang.

Sansa cracked her eyelids open and looked down. Cersei.

She said at the funeral that she wanted to reconnect, but hadn’t. Sansa told herself it had everything to do with the grieving process, and the funeral process and any other possible explanation than something sinister. Jaime and Tyrion met with Petyr. Sansa would be completely stupid if she didn’t recognize the possibility that he was getting the Lannisters in their divorce. Friends always divided.

No. Not Cersei.

Sansa refused to believe that Cersei would allow it. Petyr may have been the better businessman, but Sansa meant something to her. She was sure of it. The woman was calling her now, wasn’t she? With much more trepidation than she would have liked to admit, Sansa pressed the button to accept the call.

“I need to get out,” Cersei’s familiar voice complained.

“Okay,” Sansa didn’t disagree. She remembered the days she spent cooped up in her home after the miscarriage. Cersei would need clean air and fresh faces to disorient her away from the constant pain she was feeling. “Where are we going and when?”

“Lunch at the club. Start small, you know?” Cersei’s replied quickly.

Sansa nodded and then answered, “Good plan. How--”

“Don’t ask how I am,” Cersei demanded sharply. Sansa heard her inhale deeply before she continued to explain, “I can’t stand that, Little Dove. I really can’t.”

“Understood,” Sansa replied quietly.

There was a long moment of silence as Sansa tried to think of the best way to engage her and Cersei sounded just as awkward on her end. She was reaching out, that was clear. Perhaps that was enough, no more words necessary. Then Cersei’s voice brightened, “How was counseling?”

“Counseling?” Sansa asked, feeling her heart beat faster.

Cersei laughed, “Dr. D is amazing! He helped me and Jaime out when Jaime was dead set on owning a fleet of yachts after watching that Johnny Depp movie. I didn’t mind them, but I have to be honest, I was always confused as to which one we were on and I knew it was just some childish way for him to play modern-day pirate.”

Sansa laughed.

“Oh you think it’s funny? For four months I wore nothing but bikinis. I had an entire closet of Versaci waiting for me back on the mainland that was completely going to waste. And the sea sickness, poor Tommen.” Her voice caught on that. After a couple of seconds she cleared her throat and said, “I told Jaime if he didn’t stop this fantasy, I was going to set fire to all his first editions. He told me I didn’t love him enough and it wasn’t long after that we ended up on Dr. D’s couch.”

“You let him live when you were done with him?” Sansa asked, enjoying the sound of Cersei’s voice and the humor of her domestic squabbles.

Cersei reasoned, “We liked him. Told it to us straight. Jaime and I just agreed not to discuss business in front of him. What did we care if he knew Jaime likes to carry my panties in his pocket and I like a little assplay from time to time?”

Sansa laughed at that one. “What if he talked? Told the world you were having trouble?”

“In my experience, the world already knows when we’re fighting. Much like you and Baelish, Little Dove. We all know you’re sleeping in separate houses. Jaime’s pulling for Baelish, but I told him that we’re on your side.” Cersei explained dispassionately, having no real stake in the subject. “The fact remains, it doesn’t change anything. We’re still royalty, Sansa. People don’t fuck with us. And when they do--”

“We fuck right back,” Sansa recited, remembering one of the many times Cersei imparted these same words of wisdom on her. Changing the subject, Sansa asked, “When are we grabbing lunch?”

“How does Thursday look?” Cersei asked.

That was four days away, plenty of notice. “I’m surprised not sooner.”

“I’m guessing that’s how long it will take Jaime to agree to let me out of his sight.” Cersei’s laugh sounded wry.

The call ended and Sansa looked around herself. Not only was she already at her art gallery, but she was inside. Her body had autopilotted her to her destination, while she was on the phone. Jon asked if he should go get the children and she nodded absently. She tried to stay in her office, avoiding the lobby and Petyr’s peeping eyes as much as possible.

Sansa knew he’d be standing there in the window, watching. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Yet, somehow she felt like there was more to it than the simple practicality of him being able to ensure his children’s safety. She was certain he was getting more out of it, taking pleasure in the opportunity to see her. After that session, the last thing she wanted to offer Petyr Baelish was an ounce of gratification. It wasn’t long before she heard Elenei’s voice happily trailing down the hall, occasionally punctuated with, “ _Daddy_ this,” and “ _Daddy_ that.”

“I’m in here,” Sansa called out to them. Sansa smiled to herself, pleased to hear her daughter’s joy, and to know that despite what was going on between her and Petyr, he was still a good father. A small sliver of parental jealousy crept in and she wondered if Elenei did the same thing with Petyr, talking about her nonstop at first, saying “ _Mummy_ this,” and “ _Mummy_ that.” The thought slipped away as she listened to Durran’s soft cooing cry get closer. Her heart felt full and warm having them back with her, and she met them at the door to her office, eager to hug them close and kiss every inch of their faces.

“Mum! Look at what Daddy bought me!” Elenei exclaimed.

As Sansa leaned down to kiss her daughter’s forehead, a stuffed unicorn was thrust up into her face. “That’s nice, sweetheart.” Sansa pushed it aside for a second to reach Elenei and give her a peck. She glanced up at Jon, watching her reunite with the children. He smiled as he carried Durran in one arm, and the infant car seat in the other. Sansa wasn’t surprised that Durran had insisted on being freed from his seat; the boy liked his snuggles. He was a quiet baby, much quieter than Elenei was, by a long shot. Regardless, he wasn’t shy about letting everyone know that he wished to be held more often than not.

She took him from Jon, hugging his chunky little body to her and ran her fingers over the downy auburn wisps of her son’s hair. Sansa pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and inhaled his scent. There was a sudden sharp pang in her heart as her nose recognized not only her child’s scent intermingled with _Petyr’s cologne_ . She’d smelled Petyr’s cologne on the couch beside her that morning as took pleasure in torturing her. This was different however, having it mixed with the smell of her children. He must have held him before he let him go. Her mind flooded with a thousand images of Petyr holding Durran and Elenei too. There was a flutter in her stomach at the memories as she breathed in again, knowing it to be such a good smell. She told herself to get a grip; she couldn’t allow herself to be so moved by a memory, or _many_.

Elenei chirped in her happy sing-song voice about all the fun she had at Daddy’s as Sansa held Durran close with one arm and held Elenei’s hand with her other. She guided them out to the lobby, to the glass storefront, and waited for Petyr to look, verify that she had them.

When he came to the window and smiled down at them, her body responded, that same flutter in her stomach she’d felt a moment before manifested again. She could tell herself a thousand times that she hated him and took no pleasure in his happiness, but her body always betrayed her. Deep down, she wanted him to see her. Why else would she dress up for him? His eyes were magnetic, from day one, and it went against everything in her to pull away from their attraction. She fiercely fought it, knowing that doing the right thing wasn’t always easy, not even close.

Elenei waved happily up at Petyr through the window, who smiled and returned the gesture when she turned her head to Sansa, her black ponytail bobbing with the motion. “Mum?”

Sansa kept her eyes on Petyr, on some level wanting him to watch her cuddle Durran close to her. Wasn’t that odd? She wondered why she should care if he saw her being a good mother. She had nothing to prove in that department, and he’d never once spoken against her parenting before. Perhaps she wanted him to see her hold someone other than him close, even if it wasn’t romantically. Would that combat her attraction for him? Show him that she didn’t need him anymore? “Yes?”

“Why won’t you let us live together again? _All_ of us?”  

Sansa looked down at the big blue eyes that searched her, and felt her knees buckle a little, as she crouched down. “ _What?_ ”  

“I like it when all of us are together, all _four_.”  She held her hand up to show four little fingers. “Daddy says we can’t because you say no.”  Elenei insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. Her face dimpled with emotion, and Sansa wasn’t sure if it was more anger or sadness. Sansa’s head jerked to the side, her eye twitching from the sudden rapid pulse of her blood flowing in a hot violent rage.

He crossed the line.

Sansa would put up with a lot, but the children were the limit. Never, ever, was it remotely acceptable to lay the weight of their issues on their children. She scowled fiercely through the glass at him. Sansa turned back to Elenei, hatred rampaging within, and controlled her voice, “Daddy must be mistaken, sweetheart. I’m going to go make sure he understands. Be right back.”

Jon had been standing there, eyes wide, witnessing the interchange between mother and daughter. He started to raise his hands to tell her not to do anything rash when Sansa thrust Durran into his arms and said, “I won’t be but a moment. Keep them away from the window.”  

She threw the door open and crossed the street, knowing he was stalking her movement from above. That son of a bitch. The automatic doors to their office building parted for her as she stormed through. She was barely aware of riding the elevator, her body vibrating with a serious need to lash out and break something. Various assistants smiled at her as she crossed the threshold to Petyr’s floor, “Sansa!”  “Mrs. Baelish!”  “So good to see you!”  They all said. Sansa plastered on a fake smile as she charged forward, offering no excuse or explanation for giving them hardly a glance.

She stared ahead, his office door open. Petyr had turned from the window, and stood with his legs apart in a stance of power, his hands held casually in his pockets. She sped up her pace. Seeing him completely unriled and expecting her, only enraged her more. In seconds, she had made it to his office. The sound of the door slamming loudly behind her, let her know that she had indeed shut it as she intended.  

Her fists bawled and she sneered at him. He bit his lip and inhaled as he looked her up and down. Was he getting off on this? Anger pulsed through her, her whole body throbbing to release it. “ _Bastard!_ ”

His voice was low as he smiled, “You knew that when you married me, and it never bothered you before.”

Now was not the time to be funny. She cracked her knuckles as she growled, “I can’t believe you would tell Elenei that our separation is my fault.”  

“Can’t you?”  He shot back, owning his own sliminess.  

Needing to move, Sansa started to pace back and forth. “I’ve been nothing but fair with you.”  

His eyes tracking her movements as he challenged, “Taking my family is fair?”

“Me!” Sansa exclaimed. “I took me. That’s all. I haven’t taken the kids from you at all.”

“You took everything from me! You walked out and took away everything we do together. No more family breakfasts, no more holidays, no more rousing games of hide and seek. No more anything.” He fired his sharp words rapid fire.

She couldn’t process them, too filled with her own pain. “Because I don’t want to resign myself to staying with you, I’m the person who took everything away? How about you? The person who fucked it all up when you chose Bran over your wife?!”

He stared back at her, blinking. That took him off guard. Good. Fuck him for thinking he could put everything on her. She was legitimately trying to control the damage at least. He was a toddler running around the world crying at the top of his lungs and acting out his pain.

In the silence that followed, she took a deep breath and reasoned, “We share them equally, Petyr, fifty-fifty. I never say anything bad about you to them. I tell them how much you love them.” Sansa pulled her hair back behind her ears to keep her hands under control.

Back to projecting that he wasn’t just as shaken as she was, Petyr shrugged, “Thanks for that.”

How easily he disregarded her efforts. “But, you on the other hand, would blame me for all of this, to a _child_?” Sansa spat, taking a step forward.

“Wasn’t it your choice to leave?” His voice was calmer but his eyes gave him away, burning bright with emotion. He all but whispered, “I know it wasn’t mine.”

Sansa advanced on him, meeting him eye to eye, fire to fire. “If you are upset with my decision, bring it to me. Not her. _Never_ her.”

She felt his breath hot on her face, his scowl deepening. “ _Fine_ ! I’m telling you right now, Sansa.” The depth of his voice would send anyone else running, _“I’m very upset._ ”

“Tell me something I don’t know!” She yelled back, defiantly, trying to ignore that Petyr was clearly in the anger stage of grieving over their marriage. At least he wasn’t in denial anymore.  

He glared back at her, his words pointed, “I didn’t tell Elenei that it was your fault.”

Standing so close, she was breathing in the same scent she’d smelled that morning and moments before as she held her child. Each time Petyr opened his mouth, a wave of mint assaulted her and her eyes involuntarily surveyed him, landing on his belt buckle. She shook her head no, moreso to her own inconvenient urges flaring up right then, than to what he said. She breathed, “ _Liar._ ”

His hand reached for her cheek, tilting her head to face him, as he nodded and said, “ _Yes._ ”

She moved to yank away from him and jump backwards as she had that morning but found herself rooted in place by the handful of hair he’d grabbed. His mouth met hers, hot and punishing. His other arm wrapped around her and tightened, keeping her stationary. She writhed, fighting back. So determined to hate it, her head filled with thoughts of how conniving and manipulative he was. She refused to let herself enjoy the taste of his lips, the promising way his tongue plundered her mouth, or the security she felt in being clutched so tightly to the warmth of his body.

The harder she fought, the more he anchored her to him. Had he been working out?  She didn’t remember him this strong, though perhaps she’d never truly fought so hard. Her palms found his shoulders and pushed off of him enough to break their kiss and slap him hard across the face. His hands never loosened their hold as he stared at her, examining her face, searching for something. Both panting with the exertion of the assault, they stared back at each other, silent but for the sound of their hearts beating and their chests heaving.

His fist tightened in her hair and he moved his arm a little, showing her without words that his hold on her was unrelenting. Sansa was both aroused by, and resentful over, being dominated so. Despite his grip, she surged forward, her lips taking over his, feeling some hairs rip out by the root. His groan of approval sent a shiver through her. She grabbed handfuls of his chest and abs through his shirt, desperate to feel as much of him as she could, pressing her pelvis to his, encouraging the bulge she felt under all the layers of fabric between them.  

Too many clothes.

Sansa ripped Petyr’s shirt open, moaning into his mouth. The hand on her back, traveled to her ass. Only when he felt her tug at his belt did he release her hair, obviously feeling secure that she would not now pull away. Her movements were clumsy and needy, unwilling to stop devouring his mouth, even though she’d become so uncoordinated. Petyr tore away from her lips, his eyes shimmering with passion as he looked at her, freeing himself from his pants.  

She might have felt insecure about the completely teenage way she required his older more experienced control to keep their course, but she was too enthralled. Sansa took no time, kicking her flats off and pulling her jeans and underwear off in one one swift motion. The cold office air hitting her exposed skin, announced the reality of her nudity. This wasn’t a dream. She was in Petyr’s office, undressed from the waist down, vulnerable and frantic to feel him. Before she could reach for her shirt, Petyr growled and pulled her to him, his hands kneading her bare ass. His lips settled in the crook of her neck as he lead her where he wanted her. She followed, readily submitting. Her nipples constricted at the tickle of hair on his thighs against the smooth inside of hers, his cock held tight between them, balls rubbing against the neatly cropped thatch of hair hidden from the world.

If she thought his lips on her neck would be tender and loving, she was wrong. He obscenely licked, forcefully sucked, and unforgivingly bit. The heat she held inside escaped between her legs, calling to him, begging. She hadn’t realized she’d been lifted until she was sat down. The frigid desk surface was cold contrast the fire that burned from the inside out, reddening her cheeks. Her hands slid under the white cotton undershirt that obstructed his chest from view, rubbing at the scar and plucking at the salt and pepper chest hair under her palm. She always loved this part of being with him, being able to touch him like no one else could. She could feel his scars, was encourage to. Damn, she missed it.

Not privy to Sansa’s reminiscing, Petyr kept his frenzied pace, gripping her thighs to throw them open. They spread as far as they would go and a slight tinge of pain at being overextended, reminded her of her body’s limits. There was no break, no pause for permission. He didn’t check to make sure she was ready before he brought a hand down and guided his cock, sucking in air between his teeth as he plunged into her. She’d been wet and aching for it from the moment she felt his grip in her hair, not letting her escape. Sansa arched back, bracing herself on the desk. Her breasts hated to be trapped under the confines of the cotton tee she wore, and needed to be held however roughly he’d deem. Ignoring, her offering, Petyr focused all of his attention on their joining, watching himself enter her.

Sansa closed her eyes, feeling so completely and delightfully invaded. His rock solid rod forced her delicate folds to part to allow him passage. His hands clamped down on the tops of her thighs, moving only to grab more of her hip for better leverage. Sansa reflexively clenched around him, when she felt him bottom out, his base firmly nestled against her entrance. She was as full as she’d ever be and it forced her to sit up and lean into him, breathing into his neck.

Her legs raised and wrapped around him, hugging him close. She wanted to feel all of it: his body solid against hers, intimate hairs mashing and twining together in the wet matted mess they created together. She would feel his tightened balls smacking the rounds of her ass, hung off the edge of the desk, and cherish the imposition of his orgasm into her when the time came. He used his grip on her hips to retract a little before slamming into her. Sansa yelped and he panted a breathless chuckle.

Her arm wrapped around his neck hanging on for dear life as he repeatedly rammed into her, battering her insides. Unwilling to go down without a fight, she bit his pec and listened to his hiss above her head. She smiled into his chest, rubbing her cheek into the ribbed cotton undershirt she hadn’t stripped from him, victorious as she heard the sticky slapping of his skin against hers below. The heat within only grew at his insistent intrusions and she felt herself melting and dripping down his cock.

His lips against her ear, seared her flesh with the brand, “ _Mine._ ”

She nodded slightly against his chest, agreeing and pleading at the same time, unable to stop herself. It was true, so completely and indisputably true. Sansa knew that there was no one else for her but Petyr, not since the moment their eyes met. But he screwed up, ruined the comfortable life they had together by lying and making her question what else he may have lied about in their time together. That wasn’t the kind of marriage she signed on for, and it wasn’t one she was willing to live in. She would let go of him, even if it meant she had to pretend the feelings they shared didn’t exist. She hoped that he would mistake her nodding for simply the reverberation of his forceful thrusts, causing her head move. He bit her ear and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, “ _Peee-_.”

His fingers dug deeper into her hips as his motion got more targeted and purposeful. She suddenly realized that he hadn’t touched her nub, teased or toyed with her nipples, and neither did he grope or spank at her ass. He was not pleasuring her, or caring for her climax at all. This was entirely for him, he was possessing her again, making her his--as if she ever wasn’t. She knew that once he’d finished, he would give her body the attention he usually showered it with. This however, was _primal,_ and all consuming.  

It was so easy to stay put, let him take her, fall into it and feel his force reminding her where she belonged. There would be no more doubt, or inconsistency. No more warring emotions. It would be so simple to be Petyr’s woman again. So goddamned comfortable. So _right_.

She looked over his shoulder, down at the front of Stark Naked Art Gallery. Thankfully, Jon had herded the kids away from the lobby or they’d be getting quite the traumatizing experience. Sansa’s eyes flashed down to the street below, knowing passers by maybe watching the Baelish porno playing for them to see.

“This is wrong.” She spoke into his chest, eyes shut.  

He didn’t answer at first, but slowed down slightly, still quite rhythmical and persistent in his movements. Finally, he shook his head breathing, “No, it’s not.”  

Petyr brought his lips to hers again, attempting to draw her attention back to the passion they had been lost in.  

Sansa broke from his kiss, shaking her head, “People can see.”  

“I know.”  He found her lips again, teasing them open to him. It wasn’t like Petyr to want an audience leering at her. That had always been more her style. She knew that he did however, appreciate how powerful of a message taking her publicly sent to anyone questioning whether or not she was his.  

She felt him reach down and lift one of her knees, folding her leg up between them, and wrapped both arms around her tightly. The minor change in position, tilted her, and gave him even deeper access. She moaned her surprise and pleasure as he grunted into her, sweat dripping from his brow.  

“ _Petyr--_ ”

She worked hard to protest, but was cut off by his demand, “Say it again!”

Her breathing was heavy as she closed her eyes, fighting the temptation that watching him dominate her gave. She shook her head, whimpering in pleasure and frustration that she couldn’t make herself tell him to stop, severely needing what he was giving her. He brought his forehead to hers, his voice broken as he urged her on, “Say my name!”  

He had found his peak, veins bulging in his neck as he held his breath. With how much he wanted it, she wanted to give it, even if it was bad. Even if it was false hope. Sansa called out, “ _Petyr!_ ”  

He grunted and coughed an exhale as his possession pulsed deep inside of her. Where years spent together told her to hold him to her, ride the sensation out with him, she didn’t want to encourage those tender feelings. This was wrong. This was not communicating, talking and working through their issues. He caught her and she gave in. Her body turned renegade and mutinied against her sensibilities.

She sat still, feeling her jellied body firming back to reality as he caught his breath, resting his forehead on hers. His cock slowly receded, slinking out of her, and hanging between them, dripping with what they’d just done. Petyr chuckled through his breaths and tilted his head to kiss her. Sansa ducked out of the way of it. “This was a mistake.”  

He blinked back at her, his smiling fading as he caught his breath. She looked down, avoiding his gaze, hating that her womanhood was still exposed, spread open and used. He glanced down, and realized all too quickly that this moment of weakness wouldn’t offer whatever happy ending he was planning. He shot back sarcastically, “Oh, so you’re capable of them too?”

Sansa pushed past him, sliding off the desk, telling herself not to look at whatever wreckage they left on the paperwork he dropped her down on. He closed his eyes and inhaled as she reached for her clothes. Petyr’s jaw tightened and his lips pursed as he straightened himself and pulled his own pants up. His words were hard and filled with every ounce of disappointment she was sure he felt. “You can storm off when you’re mad at me all you want, but it doesn’t make you any less mine.”

She was glad that she had taken both her underwear and jeans off at the same time because the leg holes were perfectly lined for her to slide back into in one fast motion. She didn’t bother to clean up, needing to get out of there as quickly as she could. “I’ll have Jon drop off the kids on your day. I’m not counting last night against your time with them.”  

He tucked himself back in his pants, glaring at her as he said, “How generous of you.”  

She turned to leave when Petyr called out, “I never told Elenei that it was your fault.”  

Sansa paused. Though she was listening intently, she did not turn around.  

“I told her that you had a lot of work to do and with visiting Bran, that’s why you stay at Kingsroad.” Petyr explained.

Sansa turned a little, seeing the exhausted look on his face. She could tell it was from so much more than the physical exertion of their activities, but instead just an overall weariness that hung on him. She recognized it so easily because she felt it too. It was as if the longer this went on, the more energy was sapped from them. The Baelishes were only good together or apart, this existence in between was too much. Before she could say anything, he added, “You’ll notice, _I am not the one_ that moved out. So it didn’t make sense for me to suddenly be too busy to live together. _You_ moved, _you_ got to be the one supposedly swamped by work.”  

As much as she disliked it, he had a point. “She said you told her that it was my fault.”  

“She’s four. She heard that you work a lot and saw that as a choice to work rather than be with your family.” Petyr poured himself a drink from the decanter on his desk and downed it in one swallow. “Two and two together, equal: _your fault_.” He added, “Four year old logic.”

Sansa sighed, seeing the truth to his words. He took the opportunity to dig at her, “Although, you apply the same logic in regards to Bran, so maybe it’s not limited to that age range alone.”  

Her lips tightened. She knew he was just lashing out because he was hurt.    

He poured another drink, smiling, “You two are so much alike.”

“You’re a sore loser, Petyr.” Sansa stared back in disapproval. In truth, she didn’t know what constituted winning and losing, it all felt like loss.  

He flashed her a grin that didn’t touch his eyes as he insisted, “I haven’t lost anything.” His jaw tightened as he forced through his smile, “You’re still very much _mine_.”  

She shook her head, feeling the part of him that he left behind ooze out of her and shamefully pool in her underwear. He was only too happy to point out the evidence. “If nothing else,” he gestured to his desk, “ _this_ definitely proved it.”

Sansa took a deep breath, forcing herself to be strong. Any hopes she had that he was no longer in denial were dashed. She answered in an even tone, “I told you, this was a mistake. It can’t happen again.”

“Hey, Sansa?” Petyr smiled bitterly.

“Yes?”

He took another swallow of his drink and spoke through a sinful grin, “Your tits are leaking.”

He might as well have been telling her to go fuck herself by the tone which which he pointed out the two dark grey circles on her t-shirt. Sansa’s face flushed, too embarrassed to come up with any sort of meaningful retort. She held her arms over her chest protectively, and bolted through the door. She had known that he would grasp at any weak moment she had, and lash out when she rejected him. That was Petyr, for good or bad. What she hadn’t expected, was for him to laugh at her or be quite so vicious about it.

The crowd that had been so eager to see her earlier, sat crouched over their desks, heads down as if suddenly engrossed in their work. Hitting the elevator button, she had no doubts that they had not only heard them fucking loudly, but also her rejection of him. She ran his declaration that she was still his over in her head and wondered if he might have been the only person not to hear her when she told him that it had been a mistake.  

  



	10. Ketamine and Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's okay. They know Mom here."

“You’re too kind.” 

“Kind? It surprises me that you would think so little of me. That I would be so disingenuous. I compliment you because you are worthy of my compliments, Sansa. I do not engage you so because I wish to be  _ kind. _ ” Oberyn’s voice purred through the phone. 

Sansa gave a shy and reluctant smile. “I meant no offense.” 

“No,” he laughed. “What you truly meant, was to ask how I wished to engage you.” 

It wouldn’t have been Oberyn if he wasn’t flirting. She’d grown to expect that from their interactions, and had always been able to politely decline. Memories of the needy way she pawed at Petyr’s belt and urgency with which he dropped her on his desk and threw her legs open flashed before her eyes. It was bad and wrong and made her breath catch. 

She smelled Petyr’s cologne. That was impossible, though. She hadn’t seen him in four days. There was no way his scent could have clung to her clothes that long; they weren’t even the same clothes. She was certain she could smell him, a faint whiff so close and yet just out of her reach. Every time she inhaled, searching for it, it was gone. 

Was that just how memory worked? Painful and punishing, denying her the reprieve of simply knowing what they did, sans all the details. It forced her to pull from all her senses to remember everything so vividly. Regret washed over her as she felt her cheeks redden with the increase blood flow of lust and embarrassment. Her mouth opened before her mind caught up and she asked in a husky whisper, “How  _ would _ you like to engage me?”

There was a renewed vigor in his voice that she could only attribute to hope as he lowered his voice sensually, “I’m certain you know my interests.”

Though miles divided them, her ear felt as hot as if his lips were mere inches away. She closed her eyes and remembered the way Petyr would gently pull her hair back away from her shoulder as he whispered naughty nothings in her ear. Sansa squeezed her legs at the involuntary shiver that tickled across her flesh and lead the hair to stand up on her arms. Was this her body calling out in arousal for her husband, or just a meaningless biological process that could easily be stirred by anyone?

Oberyn wasn’t Petyr, but did that matter? He wanted her, made that plain from the moment they met. Perhaps it didn’t matter that it was wrong, so long as it wasn’t wrong in the same ways that it was with Petyr. She left his office that day feeling ashamed of what they’d done. That was not an act of love between a husband and wife. It was ugly and hurtful. They’d fought with words, legal documents, business, and just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, they both crossed the line. Rather, they both crossed  _ a _ line. She’d been learning awfully quickly that there was no one line that couldn’t be crossed when a love like theirs was falling apart, but instead many lines that each person swore to themselves would be  _ the _ line, but never was. They both kept hanging on, clinging to the life raft in the water promising that the next big wave would be the one that finished them. She wondered if that’s what hope was. 

Letting their fighting bleed into their sex, how they touched and loved one another, was another line. It had to be. Why else would she feel so much disgust and self-loathing afterward? Sex with Petr wasn’t the answer. It hadn’t been from day one, and it wouldn’t be now. That didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t desire him. Oberyn was there, ready and willing. Would it really be such a bad thing to use a man who was practically begging to be used, in order to satiate her urges for her husband? It wasn’t as if Petyr and she were ever going to reconcile...

She took a deep breath and cleared her thoughts. Petyr made everything confusing. Her feelings for him pulled her in different directions and reduced her to nothing more than need. Completely worked up and trying to regain her senses, considering an affair with Oberyn Martell. It was the last thing she needed to waste her energy on and she decided to put him out of her head for the time being. She meant for the rejection to be more mild in nature, seeing no need to beat him down. She still felt, however, the need to be firm. “I’ve always appreciated your attention, Oberyn. Much like anyone would a forgiving dress, favorable lighting, and accentuating heels. The compliments feel wonderful, even if they aren’t meant to sustain.”

“Ah. You are missing your husband,” Oberyn pointed out the obvious. “He is certainly this man of substance for you.” 

In so many ways. Sansa changed the subject by sighing, “Thank you for calling about the delivery. I do appreciate strong communication in a  _ professional _ partnership.”

“Your  _ brush-off _ is not as gentle as you pretend,” Oberyn laughed. “I’d be wounded if I thought anyone stood a chance against Baelish in regards to your heart.”

Sansa smiled, or maybe grimaced. Again, she wasn’t sure. “There will be no disruption in services, Oberyn. You have my word.” 

“If that is all I may have, I will have to settle for it.” 

A beep in her ear confirmed that he ended the call and she couldn’t have been more relieved. She had dealt with many overly-confident casanova types over the years and Oberyn’s flirtatious nature did not usually cause her so much distress. She knew that it only did now because of how twisted up inside she was over Petyr. She needed to snap out of it, and snap out of it quickly. She was on her way to meet Cersei and a distracted mind could be dangerous. Things were already dangerous, more so than Sansa had ever realized. 

Memory of her visit with Bran a couple days prior came into focus as the car drove on. Sansa remembered pushing on the heavy hospital door to Bran’s room and stopping. He’d woken from his coma and there was no one to stop them from meeting anymore, except of course for her own hand. She hadn’t been sure if she was prepared to see him awake, wondering if he would be cognizant of what he’d lost. She thought surely he’d be depressed and in agony--if not physically, then definitely mentally. Sansa wasn’t sure if she could bear to see that, her little brother heartbroken over the future he wouldn’t have. 

Sansa made to turn, but quickly stopped, coming face to face with Jon. “I just...I, uh…” she trailed off weakly. 

He gave her a look that told her that he knew full well her urge to run and he wouldn’t tolerate it. He waved his hand forward, motioning for her to turn around and walk through the door to Bran’s room. Apparently, cowardice was not an option for Sansa. When her hand stilled on the door, Jon’s arm extended over her and pushed the door open. Her palm froze in mid-air as Bran’s room opened up to her. 

“Sans!” He exclaimed from his bed. Any concern she might have had that he may be too confused to remember her, was gone at the sight of his toothy grin.

“Hey, Bran,” Sansa smiled back. She stood towards the outskirts of the room, trying to hide her nerves as she clung to the wall. 

Arya wrinkled her eyebrow at her, silently asking what was wrong. What wasn’t? Bran was paralyzed in a hospital bed, and Sansa took no little amount of ownership for it. Petyr was her husband, his actions reflected upon her as well. Bran was her brother, her responsibility. If she’d just been kept in the loop, she would have been able to prevent this. 

“Dead legs aren’t contagious, you know.” Bran’s light chuckle was forced. “You can come closer.” 

Sansa took a proud step forward, trying to appear less anxious than she truly was. “I know that, Bran.” Then she offered weakly, “I didn’t want to crowd you.” 

Meera shifted around him, fussing with various tubes, buttons, and kidney-shaped dishes. She scoffed, “Don’t let Bran fool you. He just loves the attention.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I wanted all my family around me so I said, ‘ _ You know what? Fuck walking.’ _ Seriously.” Bran shot back sarcastically. 

“I wouldn’t put it past you!” Meera scowled at him and shoved a gigantic hospital cup into his chest, “Drink more water.” 

“I’m paralyzed, not dehydrated,” he grumbled. 

“You sound married already,” Arya smirked and slowly rose out of her chair, bracing herself on the arms of it as she did. She looked further along in her pregnancy than she was and Sansa wondered if she’d make it full term. She prayed she would for the baby’s sake, but then part of her didn’t for Arya’s sake. 

Bran ignored her and waved Sansa closer. Steeling herself against any outward display of emotion that threatened to come out, Sansa approached his bedside. “How do you feel?” She asked, and then instantly wished she could take it back. 

“I don’t.” Bran smacked his knee and laughed. 

It was just like him to try to make light of something so serious. Sansa stared at him, unable to laugh at his poor joke. His smile faded and he reached for her hand. “Hey, Sans. I’m alright.” 

She closed her eye when a single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. Bran’s voice was soft as he promised, “It was my choice.”

That wasn’t entirely true, though, was it? Petyr allowed it. No one had a choice when it came to something the Baelishes sanctioned. It might have been Bran’s idea, and Bran’s decision to approach Petyr and get in the truck. It was Petyr’s to let him, to allow such a choice be made. Her voice hardened, “No.” 

Bran squeezed her hand. “If you want someone to blame, blame me.” 

Meera huffed in the background and Arya clasped a hand on her shoulder. Jon circled behind them, and sat next to Sansa at the foot of the bed. He didn’t reach to touch her, but his presence beside her offered the same calming influence. Sansa breathed deeply, “I’m not worried about blame right now, Bran.” 

He laughed, “Yeah, that’s why that redheaded detective was the first to greet me away from the doctors.” 

“I didn’t send her,” Sansa was quick to correct. Melisandre hadn’t found anything anyway. Stannis handed her report to Sansa for review as a gesture of good faith. He hadn’t sent her to question Bran either. Apparently, it had been a domestic squabble. She was pissed he wouldn’t take her on vacation. Stannis explained that his daughter was undergoing another treatment and he couldn’t justify a clandestine meeting away from the missus. Melisandre was punishing him for putting family first, as most temperamental mistresses tended to do.

Later that night, when Melisandre walked up the front steps to her home, she was met by two very large men and some well-sharpened blades. They held her down and cut off every dyed lock of hair on her head, even pulling some out as they did. When she struggled too much, they bruised her into submission. Sansa took only small comfort in the pictures she was sent of the woman’s reduced state.

Bran’s voice brought her back to the present, “Yeah, I figured. Something about that chick oozed fucked up shit.” 

“Don’t worry, Sans got her back,” Arya boasted. 

Sansa shot her a glare. There was no need to disturb Bran with the gritty details. They had been wronged, and Sansa set it right. That was all that mattered. She had read in the report that Bran hadn’t remembered anything at all, though the way his instincts had told him not to trust Melisandre, Sansa wondered if that were true. She rubbed his hand in hers. “There wasn’t anything you remembered about that night, was there?” 

He nodded slowly, “Everything.”

“Was it an accident?” Sansa asked, surprised that she had. Until then, she’d still clung to hope that it was a garden variety car crash. They were common enough, and it was totally believable that two younger guys amped up on the importance of their work would be a little edgy. Perhaps they turned the wheel too hard or neglected to pay attention to the other traffic on the road. 

Unfortunately, the fact that it was Tommen Lannister and Bran Stark behind the wheel greatly decreased the likelihood that it was just an accident, something Sansa had been too upset to really consider much before. Melisandre parading in, whether to punish Stannis or not, only drove that point home to her. 

Bran shook his head, “No. We were run off the road.” 

Sansa’s chest tightened and she tapped Jon’s leg. Knowing exactly what she wanted, he pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket. “What do you mean you were  _ run off the road _ ? By who?” 

“I don’t know. It was a black car. Plates were blacked out too. We didn’t see the fucker at first, kept his headlights off. All of a sudden he was on our ass, ramming into the back of us.” 

Sansa wondered why there was no evidence of this. Where was the black paint on the bumper? Where were the video feeds of their truck being chased by a black car? “What kind of car was it?” 

“Sedan. Nothing flashy. Looked like it could have been a rental for how mundane it was,” Bran explained. “Tommy told me to speed up. I told him no, that I was gonna jam on my brakes to show the fucker. He begged me not to.”

Sansa rubbed her thumb over his knuckles and Bran shook his head. “I wasn’t going to listen, but his face, you know? He looked so scared. Reminded me of Ricky, that time Dad let go of the back of his bike and showed him he was riding all on his own.”

Before Sansa could glance around the room, Arya answered her question. “Rickon’s down in the computer lounge stealing an hour or so to catch up on some work stuff. He’ll be back soon.” 

Sansa nodded and Bran let go of her hand. “They told me he’s dead.” 

It wasn’t a question; he wasn’t waiting for her to confirm or deny it, yet she felt the need to all the same. “Yes.”

“Shame,” Bran cleared his throat. “He was a good kid.” He picked at the hospital blanket a little as he added, “Lannisters must be on the warpath.” 

“They would be, if they had a target,” Sansa explained. “They don’t know you were driving.”

“I know.” 

She glanced around the room, curious who told him. “Oh?” 

“Petyr stopped by after that shitty detective did. Told me what happened; told me how he fixed it,” Bran smiled proudly. 

Anger boiled beneath her skin, itchy pin-pricks of indignation irritated the surface. Petyr was the hero? Seriously? Sure, both Petyr and Bran conspired behind her back, so she should be equally upset with both, but she was more upset with Petyr because he allowed it. He was older, more mature; he should have known better. He should have loved her better. Then like some white knight, Petyr paraded in to see Bran and announced that he successfully covered up their tracks. Well wasn’t that just fucking marvelous? That asshole. 

“Oh shit, you got that pissed off look in your eye,” Bran pointed out. He should know. Out of all the Starks, he was the one who most often caused that look in Sansa. He reached for her hand again, and said, “You shouldn’t blame Petyr.” 

She pulled her hand away and stood up, scoffing. “But I do blame him, Bran.” She held her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling, the weight of things settling so heavy on her shoulders. “He should have discussed it with me.”

Bran sat up further in bed. “You would have said no.”

“And that makes it alright, then? Only ask someone if you know they will side with you? Otherwise, you should completely circumvent them to get whatever it is that you want. Screw their feelings or respecting them enough to go through the work of having an actual discussion to come to an agreement.” Sansa felt rather than heard her voice raising. 

She hadn’t noticed that Jon had risen from the bed until she saw him standing in front of her with a wrinkled brow. His hands rose to tell her to relax and she smacked them away. Bran argued, “You’re being too hard on him. He was only trying to help me.”

“ _ We  _ would have helped you, Bran.  _ We _ would have. If I had only been included in what happens in my own family!” Sansa growled, her hair falling out of place. She hadn’t expected to get so flustered and lose her composure, and she wasn’t sure how much of that was due to Bran and how much was due to Petyr. 

A quick glance to the side showed Arya closing in on her. Her hands were raised and her expression neutral, as if she were trying to approach a wild animal. Perhaps she was.

Bran fumed, “It wasn’t like that. Sometimes a man just has to step up and make decisions for his family. A wife should understand that.”

“No,” Sansa argued, hating that he was not only condoning but also endorsing how Petyr had hurt her. “You’re wrong. A marriage is a partnership. It’s two people--” She glanced over at Arya apologetically, “ _ Usually _ , anyway.”

Arya rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Very funny.” 

Sansa wasn’t trying to be funny. She was simply remembering her audience and attempting to be respectful of her. In truth, she was mildly impressed with herself at being able to look beyond her own heated feelings. Though, she somewhat suspected that was more due to her desire to avoid those very same feelings than it was anything else. 

At Sansa’s innocent expression, Arya pointed out, “We’re not married.”

“Could you be?” Meera interjected with true curiosity. 

“The point is--” Sansa started.

“That Petyr was supporting me, Sansa. Don’t you want that? A husband who’s supportive of your family?” Bran cut her off, his face pinched in severity as his questions shot out of him more like accusations. 

Sansa glared at him, her hand itching to smack him across the face. He sounded every bit the insolent child she struggled to manage through their youth, and not very much like the young man about to start a family he was meant to. Sansa ground through her teeth, “A marriage is a partnership between two people who vow to respect each other.” She inhaled, and then repeated with emphasis, “ _ Who vow to respect each other _ .”

Bran folded his arms over his chest and looked away. It was classic Bran body-language for: oh shit, I’m wrong. Sansa continued, “When you respect your partner, you don’t go off on your own to play the big man.” 

He opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times before he reasoned, “Petyr’s been at this a long time, Sansa. He wouldn’t have made the decision he did if he saw anything wrong with it.”

Her eye twitched in irritation and she’d just opened her mouth to protest when Meera jumped in, “And is that what you think life’s gonna be like with me? That sometimes you just ‘ _ gotta be a man’ _ and say screw whatever your wife wants?”

“No, baby, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” Bran let go of himself and appealed to her. 

She held her hands up and shook her head. “No, no. Go on, Bran. Tell me. Is this what I’m sticking around for? Some authoritarian dickhead? Some great marriage you got planned there.” 

“It won’t be like that,” Bran protested, reaching for her. 

Arya hid a smirk and Sansa sat mouth agape as Meera slapped his hands away. She growled, “Don’t you touch me! You’re never touching me again!” 

“Baby! No!” Bran plead. “Come on, don’t be like that. We’re different.” 

Sansa wanted to ask why, but was pleased to find she didn’t need to. Meera beat her to it, shrieking, “ _ Why _ ?  _ Why, Bran _ ? Tell me why you and I would talk things out and come to some sort of agreement, but Baelish didn’t need to do that with Sansa?” 

Sansa felt Jon’s hand squeeze hers and she suddenly realized that she’d stopped breathing. The woman had nailed it right on the head. Why did Petyr get a pass? Why did Bran think the way he treated her was acceptable, but not so in his own relationship? The air had caught in Sansa’s throat at the inescapable realization that her own husband--the love of her life, had shown as little regard for their relationship as her brother had.

If there was anything in the world that Sansa had always been able to count on, it was that Petyr Baelish was one hundred percent in love with her. He worshiped her like a queen and respected her as an equal, praising her mind as much as her body. Or at least, that’s what she had believed for the past seven years. Now she didn’t know what she believed, didn’t know what she could count on. All she knew anymore was the rejection and disappointment of knowing Petyr clearly hadn’t felt she was worthwhile enough to even try to talk to. For a man who excelled in his powers of persuasion, his lack of willingness to even attempt a discussion truly hurt. 

Her downward spiral was interrupted with Meera’s growl, “You can’t can you? You can’t tell me, Bran. You fucker! I deserve more than this.” 

Sansa blinked as she watched Meera stomp angrily out of the room. Jon made to stand up and Arya held her hand out to stop him. “Don’t. It’s the baby. It’s just making her crazy.” 

Bran spoke down at his hands, picking at the hospital blanket that covered him. “She’ll be back. I think.” 

Jon moved his hands to ask,  _ You think?   _

“I mean, probably.” Bran took a deep breath and offered a forced smile. “She’s left me four times since I’ve woken up.” 

Sansa glanced over to Arya who held a hand over her belly as she nodded her head. “Meera’s really struggling. She--”

“Doesn’t want a cripple,” Bran spat. 

Arya narrowed her eyes on him, “Pretty sure I wasn’t going to say that.” 

Sansa watched Jon ask what she was going to say and Arya turned back to them to explain. “Meera is struggling with the fact that Bran broke the pact with her family, that he lied to her.” 

“Shit happens,” Bran shrugged, his face pinched in a scowl. 

“Oh really?” Arya laughed. “Maybe you didn’t hear yourself?  _ No baby! No _ !”

“Shut up, Arya.”

“ _ Please baby! _ ” Arya brought her hands up in a gesture of prayer, her face mock pleading. “ _ Baby, please! Don’t do me like that! We’d be different! _ ”

Sansa leaned back to avoid the tissue box that Bran grabbed from his bedside table to throw at Arya. She wanted to laugh at her siblings antics, particularly when Bran exclaimed, “I didn’t say all that shit!” She couldn’t, however, thinking only of Petyr and how little she meant to him. 

The car came to a stop and Sansa was pulled from her memories as she looked up at the restaurant’s front entrance. She waited for the driver to open her door and thought about the way Petyr ran roughshod over her heart as he tangled his hand in her hair and took the orgasm he wanted. Sansa stepped foot to the brick sidewalk feeling how little Petyr valued her, even as he clutched her close with hands and teeth. 

When she spotted Cersei and her little entourage across the crowded dining room, she thought that would be an end to her thoughts of Petyr. No sooner had she begun to close in, had she felt the wheels in her brain turn to consider the possessive way Petyr told her that she belonged to him, and the contradictory lack of ownership he took for his part in their marriage. 

Her feet propelled her toward the toe-headed table as she wondered why on earth she’d ever want to belong to Petyr Baelish if she’d always be deemed so inconsequential. Taking her frustrations out on a willing body was looking more and more appealing by the moment. 

“Little Dove!” Cersei held her arms out, not lifting her ass from her seat. 

Sansa realized that was because she was already too drunk to attempt to stand. Not wanting the blond queen to topple, Sansa bent down, leaning in for a quick peck on either cheek. Cersei laughed as she pulled out a chair. “Oh that fourth glass was a bit ambitious, but I didn’t think it’d pack as big of a punch as it did.” 

Myrcella gave Sansa an apologetic look and Sansa flashed her an understanding smile before cringing at a comment made in her right ear. “That’s what mother gets for drinking fruity drinks. They always fuck her up and make her fat.” She didn’t have to turn to know it was Joffrey, the ungrateful little shit had a very distinct voice, high pitched and squeaky, even in adulthood. He also had a way with words that could only nicely be described as  _ daring _ . Sansa glanced at Cersei and the tired expression on her face, and thought of how lucky Joffrey was to be her son. No one else would have survived saying a fraction of the things he’d spewed out in all the years she’d known him. Cersei gave her a half-hearted smile as she shrugged off the comment, “Children.” 

Taking pity on her, Sansa held her arm up and waved for the waiter to come. “They should have added alcohol to the list of necessary items for child-rearing.” 

“They can’t be that bad,” Myrcella leaned in over the table and lifted her glass of wine. “You’ve got two.”

They weren’t. Sansa loved her children. It wasn’t simply due to their age or the fact that they were a product of her, like she suspected was the case with Cersei and Jaime, but instead because of their own unique personalities. Petyr had the kids at the moment and Sansa had missed them terribly. She shook her head no too Myrcella as she reminded herself that she’d have them back in just one more day. With that thought came the realization that she’d also be seeing Petyr.

Heavy sludge churned in her belly at the thought of having to face him. They’d exchanged the children only once after the ugly way they’d reached for one another that day in his office. She kept her distance, only seeing him from behind the car’s windshield. He smiled at Durran before handing him to Brune to load in his car, and bent down to hug Elenei. His head rest over her tiny shoulder as his eyes opened and looked at Sansa, a smile on his face as he mouthed,  _ coward _ . 

She scowled back at him as she felt the anxiety rise in her throat. He was calling her out, and she knew it. Getting out of the car and meeting him face to face to exchange the children was the mature thing to do. She knew that, and wanted to be that person who rose above. What they’d done, however, was too fresh in her mind and her cheeks flagged a deep red when she thought of how he’d use it against her. 

His sinful grin would look her body up and down, unrepentant. It was more than just the leering that she felt the need to avoid. It was the insight he’d have. He would laugh and tease playfully with Elenei as he eyed Sansa knowing not twenty four hours prior that he’d had her. She’d declared that they were done, that she couldn’t be with him anymore and then went back on her word. For what? To feel him hot between her legs again, and he had the disgusting pleasure of knowing that. She felt like shit, and seeing him would only make her feel worse. Of course she chickened out. It was simple self-preservation.

The thought of seeing him again only made her relive that embarrassing moment. She was startled out of her thoughts when Cersei’s hand came to rest on her arm. “Oh no. We've lost you. Completely spaced out. I can only assume, Dr. D hasn’t fixed things yet?” 

Sansa gave a weak smile and replied, “Not yet.” 

“Well, drink up. He will.” Cersei pointed to the glass of wine in front of Sansa. “Have you had another session yet?” 

“Not yet.” She wasn’t sure she could take another session, and it gave her wrinkles to think that the prenup required a minimum of eight sessions total. Sansa reached for the glass in front of her, grateful for it’s sudden presence and glanced across the room to see Jon standing by the bar. She was grateful for him too. He’d promised her that he didn’t blame her for not seeing Petyr that day, but then in true Jon form, reminded her that she couldn’t keep avoiding him, either. 

Seeing that Joffrey was sitting on the other side of her, Sansa regretting telling Jon to station himself so far away. She would have included him if she knew boys were allowed. Then again, Jon was probably thrilled not to have to sit anywhere in the same vicinity as Joffrey or Cersei. He disliked the woman’s unpredictable nature. Sansa focused on Myrcella, giving her a sympathetic look and realized that she was probably the only Lannister that Jon didn’t seem to have any outward complaints about being around. 

“Well, when you do go, really give into it.” Cersei’s face got more serious that Sansa was used to. Especially when she wasn’t holding a weapon. “Don’t resist it, just go all in, Little Dove.” 

Sansa blinked. 

Myrcella nodded, “Some of Mom’s best moments happen in therapy.”

Joffrey scoffed, “Yeah and then we all have to listen to her babble on about it.”

“Please excuse my brother,” Myrcella said. Sansa had noticed that each and every time she saw the Lannister children together, Myrcella was apologizing for Joffrey. 

Cersei groaned, “Yes, please excuse my snot-nosed brat of a son.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a little baggy and a pill cutter. Sansa glanced around them to make sure no one was looking. 

Myrcella smiled at Sansa and said, “It’s okay. They know Mom here.” 

Sansa turned back to Cersei at the loud cracking sound beside her and saw her shake the pill pieces out of the cutter. She reached around Sansa and held out a half to Joffrey and said, “Take it.” 

He glared at her for a moment and then accepted the pill. Sansa raised her eyebrow, silently asking what it was. 

“Ketamine,” Myrcella explained.

“I only give him halfs because he’s useless on a whole.” Cersei inhaled deeply, plastering a smile on her face. 

With Joffrey mildly sedated, he was much easier to ignore. Sansa turned all of her attention to Cersei and gave her a reassuring smile, “It’s really good to see you out in the world again.” 

Cersei smiled into her drink. “It’s good to be back.” She looked over to Myrcella and added, “I must confess, our meeting isn’t simply social. It’s also business-related.” 

“Oh?” Sansa glanced between the two of them. 

“Daddy’s already met with Baelish.” Myrcella began rifling through her bag, shifting papers around. “But, we wanted to invite you in on the opportunity as well.” 

“As separate entities?” Sansa asked, knowing they would be taking advantage of the opportunity to double the business. 

Cersei took another drink. “Of course.” 

“It’s to increase shipping,” Myrcella explained, setting some papers down over her plate. “When you look at the charts, you can see that there’s a marked difference in the rate at which our normal shipper sends and returns versus this new company.” 

Sansa let her eyes scan the pages of both line and bar graphs. She gave Myrcella a proud grin. Of course Myrcella would have crunched the numbers and come prepared. She took family business seriously. Sansa doubted Jaime or Tyrion bothered to go through so much work in their approach with Petyr, relying on the good ‘ol boy culture of their dealings. Varys would have looked into it ahead of time anyway, always leaving Petyr more informed than the Lannisters would have liked. Petyr certainly wouldn’t have allowed himself to be surprised by the whole thing the way Sansa was. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was new to doing this on her own; it was a learning curve. 

She was about to discuss the facts and figures in more detail when she noticed the name to the side of one of the charts: Greyscale.

Sansa knew she heard the name before, and turned it over and over in her head, staring off in the distance thinking. Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of two woman approaching, though didn’t turn her head to look until they sat down next to Myrcella. 

“Ah, so glad you could join us,” Cersei slurred. 

Every muscle in Sansa’s body grew taut, as every hair stood on end and the air escaped her in an inaudible growl. While Sansa did not know the darker toned woman, her skin a warm coffee color, she definitely knew the short platnum blond that grinned diabolically at her as she said, “Of course, Cersei.” She reached her hand for the golden queen’s, not taking her eyes off of Sansa as she said, “Anything for a friend.”

A small part of Sansa felt relief that she wasn’t dead. If Dany wasn’t dead, that meant that her baby wasn’t either. For years she’d felt guilty over the death of the infant, and prayed that she could take back her vengeful orders. She was relieved to see that her prayers had been answered. The rest of her, the much larger part of her knew to be guarded. Dany wanted her dead for the death of her Kahl, she’d only want her dead even more now, knowing that Sansa had ordered her hit. Come to think of it, how did Dany survive it? Sansa had seen pictures. 

Sansa recalled the tale of Snow White and the Huntsman sent to kill her, but took pity on her. Dany was no Snow White, but Sansa felt that perhaps their tales were similar regardless. Their eyes had locked on each other from the moment Dany sat down, and Cersei leaned her head in and asked, “You remember Dany? She was Kahl Drogo’s wife.” Her eyebrow furrowed as she looked closer at Sansa and added, “It’s funny, I thought you’d offed her. But apparently she just went overseas to strike out on her own.” 

Dany’s grin spread, “ _ Tried _ , Cersei. She  _ tried _ to kill me. Didn’t work out though. My husband saved me.” 

“Thought he was dead.” Sansa cocked her head, as if teasing. No matter what her feelings were, she had to set them aside. The only way to survive situations like these was to maintain dominance. She worked hard to relax her muscles and appear more at ease than she truly was. Powerful people had a calm exterior. She would fake it if necessary, but she would not allow herself to be so obviously riled in the enemy’s presence. 

“Oh, forgot to mention. My name is Mormont now,” Dany shrugged, displaying how equally relaxed she was. 

Mormont. Greyscale. Sansa flashed back so many years ago to Olenna Tyrell’s depressingly pastel nursing home bedroom and the conspiratorial way she shuffled the cards as she said,  _ I assured the Mormont woman that we would still work with her and her husband, regardless of his disgrace. _ Varys said he found someone who owed money to the Tyrells. The sinking feeling in Sansa’s stomach grew more severe as she started connecting all the dots. 

She stared ahead at Snow White and cracked her neck to relieve the urge to lunge across the table at her. Cersei cleared her throat, and laid a hand in her lap. Had it been anyone else with their palm on her thigh, Sansa would have pulled her gun and shot them right in the seat beside her, crowded restaurant or not. There were ways to clean things up and Sansa had begun cataloguing all the various means by which to rid herself of Dany all over again. 

Cersei’s voice was low beside her, “Now Little Dove, I know you two have history but surely business takes precedence. And besides, Dany’s been a great friend to me since losing Tommen.” 

Joffrey chuckled to the other side of Sansa, but it was lazy and there were no words to follow, whether because he couldn’t think of what to say or because he was too sedated to utter them. Myrcella adjusted the paperwork in front of her and turned to Dany. “We were just showing Sansa some of the numbers.”

“Perfect. What am I’m always saying, Missandei?” Dany asked over her shoulder to the woman that sat silently next to her. Sansa checked her over again in her periphery, not daring to take her focus off of Dany.

The woman’s voice was as smooth and lucious as she looked. “Numbers never lie.”

The image of Petyr’s silvered temples and mossy green eyes appeared to Sansa as she remembered the way he stared at multiple monitors with numbers ticking away on them. More than a few times she sat in his lap late at night as he ran his hands under her clothes absently and stared at the screen. He would promise her a great many things as he did, and she would chuckle and ask him how he was so certain. Each time he would kiss her behind her ear and whisper, “Because numbers never lie.” 

She gave the hand on her thigh a squeeze so that Cersei would remove it. It wasn’t that Sansa minded the woman touching her. In fact, she sort of liked it. A brief twinge of jealousy hit when Sansa heard that Dany had been such a good friend to Cersei, and the gesture had felt reassuring. Her need to escape Cersei’s grip, however, was more because of how it reminded her that it wasn’t Petyr’s. 

“Sansa, please meet Missandei. She’s the Mormont’s right.” Myrcella made the introduction, as if unaware of all the undertones of the situation. She was a smart girl, and Sansa was sure that she knew no matter how clean she tried to make things, the situation was quite messy.

The woman tipped her head at Sansa, “It is a pleasure.” 

Sansa nodded back, still refusing to break eye contact with Dany. Myrcella attempted to garner her attention again as she pointed at the papers, “As you can see here--”

“I’m your best option for anything coming in or out of the city,” Dany smirked waving the waiter over. 

“Already such strong standing in the city? I’m impressed,” Sansa narrowed her eyes at her. 

“Reisling,” Dany answered the waiter. She rubbed her thumb over the gaudy wedding band on her finger and flashed a sadistic smile. “Yes, I have your husband to thank.” 

“My husband?” Sansa tried to hide the question from her voice, but knew her tone was too transparent. 

“And us!” Cersei laughed. “We went in equal to get you here.”

“What do you mean you  _ went in equal _ ?” Sansa asked, hating that she was asking questions when she felt she should have already known. 

“Congratulations! You have a monopoly! That will take four houses to make a hotel,” Joffrey laughed, eyelids droopy. “Baelish sold all the railroads, no hotels.” 

“Shut up, Joffrey,” Myrcella hissed. 

Cersei rolled her eyes and took two large gulps of her drink before she apologized. “Sorry everyone, the pill cutter never does an even cut. He probably got more like sixty-five or seventy percent this time.” 

Dany finally broke away from Sansa’s eyes to look sympathetically at Cersei. “It’s alright. Children can be so trying at times. You’re doing the best you can.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” The frustrated wrinkle in Cersei’s brow smoothed and her face started to brighten. “Thanks Dany, you’re the best.” 

There was that feeling again. That twinge of jealousy. Sansa hated how Dany spoke to Cersei and hated even more how Cersei responded to her. They weren’t friends; no one was. One wouldn’t know it to see the two of them together though. Sansa wondered when they’d become so close. Had it been any one of the days that Sansa had been respectful of Cersei’s space and need to grieve? Why would Cersei turn to Dany and not her?

Sansa decided to ask yet another question, this one riddled with acrimony, “How’s your son?” 

She’d asked, knowing it would bring Dany’s thoughts back to the boy’s father. She would picture Kahl and feel the sting of Sansa’s barb. What Sansa hadn’t expected was for Dany to slowly turn her head and stare at her with an unexpected ferocity. She ground her words through her teeth, “Unfortunately, he didn’t make it.” 

Sansa swallowed and blinked a few times. She didn’t ask any further, and didn’t have to. Dany explained, “You see, they don’t believe in vaccinations across the narrow sea--where we were forced to find refuge. He grew ill and at his very young age, there wasn’t much the doctors could do to save him.” 

Myrcella interrupted the awkward silence that followed by gathering the papers and loading them into her purse. Cersei spoke over her glass, her voice thick as she said, “She’s lost a child too.” 

“It’s how we get on so well,” Dany smiled back at Cersei, as if forgetting that Sansa was there at all. “We both know what it’s like to lose our sons.”

“Hell-o!” Joffrey waved his hand in the air, and exclaimed, “I’m right here!” 

Myrcella rolled her eyes and tucked her bag beside her. Dany and Cersei acted as if they hadn’t heard him fussing at the other side of the table and Sansa found herself more and more annoyed by the connection both women boasted. She reminded them of her presence. “Were we discussing business?” 

Cersei shot her a look and then shook her empty glass in the air. Two waiters appeared with plates of food and Cersei frowned, “I only wanted the drink.”

Dany laughed, “Why did you order food?” 

“I didn’t,” Cersei scowled and all but threw her empty glass at the waiter as soon as his hands were empty. 

Myrcella looked down at her plate as she answered, “I did. Joffrey and I ordered while you were in the bathroom.” She shot Sansa an apologetic look, “Sorry Sansa, we would have waited for you, but we wanted Mom to eat.” 

“Ss unchy,” Joffrey complained around a mouthful of food. 

Sansa glanced at the dessert in front of him, it was a huge contrast to the ceasar salad Myrcella was picking at. Apparently dessert first was not considered a faux pas to the Lannisters, though in truth that didn’t surprise Sansa much. His dish looked like creme brulee covered in bits and pieces of glass. Myrcella was quick to huff, “Of course it’s crunchy, Joffrey. Chef Ratte insists on candy garnishing with sugar shards. You don’t have to eat them.”

“Uck oo, cella!” He gulped the food back and coughed a little to clear his throat. “I’ll eat every damn one of them.” 

“Children,” Cersei warned. 

“Sorry, Mother,” Myrcella looked back down at her salad. 

“ _ Orry, uther _ ,” Joffrey mocked her with another mouthful. 

Dany took the family moment as the perfect opportunity to focus in on Sansa again. “Baelish gave us properties to settle into.” She quickly acknowledged Cersei staring back at her, “Jaime and Cersei did as well.”

“You didn’t require any from me?” Sansa asked, feeling slighted. It was not as if she wanted to give anything to Dany at all--ever, but the fact that every other player in the city had been involved, and she hadn’t, didn’t go unnoticed. It also did not escape her attention that Petyr had apparently been dealing with her too. He knew how torn up Sansa had been over the hit she’d ordered. He’d consoled her many times over it, and didn’t see fit to tell her that Dany was alive and well and in the city? Did he hate her that much, that he would not only keep this information from her, but also go so far as to assist Snow White and her Huntsman in returning to the city?

Sansa thought back to the selfish way he took her body on his desk with no regard for her needs, and the lack of concern on his face when she told them they’d made a mistake. That man wasn’t the Petyr she’d fallen in love with. No, the man from that day was cold and mean and entirely capable of doing this to her. That man would have discovered Dany’s existence and laughed to himself over how stupid Sansa would feel being the last to know. That man would have gladly given that bitch real estate to make sure she could set up shop in the city and taunt Sansa with her grudge. 

Myrcella smiled brightly, “Well, actually Sansa. We thought it would be good to offer you--”

“Ow, fuck!” Joffrey moaned, drawing a bloody finger from his mouth. 

Cersei glanced his way and then sighed, “That’s what you get for not brushing your teeth regularly.” 

“Gingivitis,” Dany agreed.

Sansa ignored him, zeroing in on Myrcella. “What were you going to offer me?”

“The chance to match Baelish,” Dany cut to the chase. 

Sansa had expected as much. “I don’t know what’s he’s offered you. I can’t possibly match what I’m not aware of.” 

“It was just a bunch of old boring Tyrell properties,” Cersei dismissed quickly. 

Sansa’s back stiffened. Petyr had gifted the Tyrell properties to the children. He had no business using them as bargaining chips with anyone, let alone Dany. 

“And the bars,” Missandei added, eyeing Dany as she did. 

Sansa noticed the pleased look both women shared and glanced at Cersei, who set her drink down suspiciously and asked, “Bars?”

Dany smiled, too innocently to be anything but condemning. “Just a couple of little holes in the wall, that are inconspicuous enough to clean some cash for us.”

“Christ, Mother! Is this bullshit meeting almost over? My stomach hurts,” Joffrey whined beside Sansa. 

Cersei fumed, “Damn it, Joffrey. If you didn’t inhale your entire plate, you wouldn’t have such a belly ache. You’re an adult now: act it!” 

Sansa wracked her brain trying to think of what bars Petyr would have given up. They’d owned so many businesses together that it was hard to keep track of at times. It was harder to guess, knowing that he was stooping low enough to put any property on the market, even the ones set aside for their children’s future. She knew that asking for any more specifics would only make her look as vulnerable as she suddenly felt. She lifted her chin and asked, “When you decided to meet with me, were there any particular properties you had in mind?” 

“No, Sansa. Not properties,” Dany corrected. 

“We’ve already invested in the way of properties,” Myrcella explained. She leaned in, aware of their surroundings. “Your contribution would be more in the way of staffing.”

“Staffing?” 

“She wants muscle,” Cersei simplified. 

“If you have any to spare,” Dany grinned. “I can pick up your next shipment and shave off a whole day and a half.” 

Sansa didn’t bother asking her why she was so willing to do business with the woman responsible for murdering her husband and calling a hit out on her. Snow White had no intention of actually conducting business with her. Sansa knew the woman’s only desire would be to see her dead. There had to be more there, though. Dany would never have to meet with Sansa directly to ensure her death, or offer any false pretense of business interests. However, she realized that everyone had given Dany property and she was only asked for manpower. Dany’s last comment,  _ If you have any to spare _ , rang through Sansa’s head. She was trying to see just how well reinforced Sansa was. 

Joffrey moaned again, much louder. “It hurts so bad!” 

“Jesus christ, I thought I was all done having to ask my children whether or not they’ve shit for the day,” Cersei glowered.

Dany’s phone rang and she looked down to check it, whispering to Missandei beside her. “Please excuse me, I’ve got to go.”

“I thought we were talking shop,” Sansa challenged her.

Dany jumped from her chair and hurriedly said, “We can catch up another time. Think about the offer.” 

Joffrey started coughing and Sansa could barely hear Cersei ask, “Oh, do you have to leave?” ‘

“Afraid so,” Dany gave her a fake frown and then threw her hands up. “Husbands!” 

“I understand completely,” Cersei sighed. “They’re utterly lost without us.”

Petyr didn’t seem lost at all. On the contrary, he seemed more than capable of managing things in her absence. Sansa, on the other hand often felt she was barely keeping her head above water. The Petyr who stood with his shirt open and his pants unbuckled in his office, slinging back shots of bourbon as he told her she was his with a sick and determined smile, didn’t seem to be sinking any. 

The women hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks in parting. Dany was a river of platinum as she strode towards the door, Missandei in tow. Myrcella cursed and reached for her bag, “Shit, I forgot to give her next Friday’s figures. I’ll catch her.” 

Cersei turned to Sansa, “I’m sorry, Little Dove. I know it’s awkward, but it’s just business.” 

“Really? I thought she was a great support?” Sansa stared back skeptically. 

“Jealous?” Cersei asked amused. After a brief moment she teased, “Come on, you know you’re my bestie.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes at her and tried not to think of how severely affected she’d be by the re emergence of Dany in the city. Joffrey’s coughing got louder and Sansa handed him a glass of water. He gulped it back as Cersei’s own phone chimed. “It’s Myrcella, she needs me to bring her, her purse. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re not making staff deliver it?” Sansa asked surprised. 

Cersei smiled and said, “I enjoy stepping outside from time to time when I’ve been drinking. You can smell the alcohol in your bloodstream with each gust of fresh air. It’s more satisfying that way.”

Sansa shook her head at her and watched as she grabbed Myrcella’s purse and left. Hearing more of Joffrey’s coughing, she turned to watch him reach up and clutch his throat. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing and as she started to tell him to slow down and breath in through his nose, she noticed blood dripping from his mouth. 

He coughed little blood sprays on the table in front of them, his eyes wide and pleading with her. Panic sent adrenaline coursing through her, setting her body on fire as all her muscles tensed. Sweat gathered in her hairline, and she was struck by a quick chill that left her trembling. She frantically searched around her and barely recognized her own voice shrieking for help. 

Jon ran to her just as Joffrey fell out of his chair, coughing uncontrollably. One of the other diners pulled out their phone and called for emergency services. “Help is on the way!” 

Sansa screamed out for Cersei, but knew the woman couldn’t hear her from out in the parking lot. Her hands were shaking too hard to pull her phone out of her purse and dial her. Joffrey’s bloodshot eyes stared back up at her from the floor, as blood ran rivers out of either side of his mouth. Sansa felt completely helpless, clutching his shoulders as he shivered on the ground, panic twisting his face as much as the pain had. He couldn’t talk, only stare up at her as his cheeks changed color. 

“ _ Joffrey! _ ” Cersei flew across the crowded dining room, falling at his side. “Joffrey, what’s wrong?” She grabbed his head and held it in her lap as she leaned over him and stared at Sansa in question. 

Rather than go into detail right then, Sansa just assured her, “An ambulance is on its way.”

Sansa controlled her breathing as she watched Cersei hold her only living son, using the sleeves of her white dress blazer to wipe away the blood pouring from his mouth, as if it would somehow stop the bleeding all together. EMTs were surround them in a matter of minutes, carting Joffrey away with Cersei in the back of the ambulance to ride with him. Sansa looked up at Cersei staring back at her through the windows of the van. It was as if there was a hint of accusation in the golden queen’s eyes, though there couldn’t have been. Sansa had been with them the whole time, how could she think Sansa had anything to do with whatever was going on with Joffrey. 

Sansa felt a rough squeeze against her shoulder and realized it was Jon pulling her away. In all the chaos, she’d forgotten he was there, waiting for her orders. She wanted to stay put, feeling rooted to the ground by the weight of what she’d witnessed, but knew he was right to insist she leave. There was no good to be done lingering after. She shook as she rose up off the ground, her legs wobbling as Jon lead her from the restaurant. Watching all the air and blood escape Joffrey, and the sick color his skin turned had been unnerving, and she felt queasy from it. 

Before she realized what she was doing, she’d whipped her phone out and clicked on Petyr’s icon as she hurried out of the restaurant. Within seconds she came to her senses and cancelled the call quickly, hoping it wouldn’t even register on his phone. She jammed it back in her bag as she grabbed the front door Jon was holding for her. 

Jon beeped the locks open and jumped in the driver’s seat. Sansa had just opened the passenger door when she felt her phone vibrate in her bag. She got in, rifling around for her phone, jerking forward as the car accelerated. She prayed it would be anyone but Petyr.

No such luck. 

She smoothed the hair back behind her ears and tried to sound much more confident and in control than she was. “Yes?” 

“Are you alright?” It felt good to hear Petyr’s voice. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat and put on the brave face she hid behind. “Of course I am. Why would you ask?” 

“You just had lunch with Cersei and both she and Joffrey left in an ambulance. Inquiring as to your welfare just seemed appropriate,” Petyr pointed out, a mild note of amusement in his voice. 

It wasn’t mocking or demeaning. It sounded like her Petyr and she was suddenly burdened with the urge to jump in a limo with him and forget the last two hours. She would give into the impulse if there were some sort of guarantee that when she did, she’d find her Petyr waiting inside, not the cold and derisive Petyr she’d been encountering more frequently.

“I’m fine, Petyr. I appreciate your call.” She silently thanked her lucky stars that he hadn’t brought up the fact that she’d called him first. 

She heard a sigh on the other side of the phone and he asked, “Did you just try to kill Joffrey?”

“What?” She couldn’t hide the alarm in her voice. 

“I hate having to ask but who knows what you’re getting yourself into anymore.” The pompous asshole sounded exhausted, and every bit the older man he was. There weren’t many times throughout their marriage that Sansa felt like a young silly girl next to a tired old man, but she did now and she didn’t appreciate being made to feel so inadequate. 

She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to shut the conversation down. “Is there anything else, Petyr? Or are we finished?” 

She instantly regretted asking, knowing of course there would be more. His speech found new life as he asked, “When are we having our next counseling session?” 

“Because the last one went so well?” She nipped him back. 

He chuckled. He actually chuckled at that. Sansa’s throat tightened and her eyes watered as she felt her suspicions confirmed. It really all was just a game to him. She ground her teeth, fighting back the tears in her eyes as she exclaimed, “ _ Forcing _ me to go to counseling is not going to keep me, Petyr. It’s just going to make me resent you more.” 

“Good!” His laughter turned sick. “At least you’ll feel  _ something _ for me.”

Sansa froze, emotions crashing over her and taking her in the undertow. Is that what he thought? That she felt nothing for him? She suffered day in and day out with a raw nerve affectionately named Petyr, ripped from her insides and dangling out in the caustically-cold open air. On a good day it throbbed, constantly reminding her with every movement no matter how slight, that she was incomplete, left with a wound that would not heal. On any other day it fired razorblade stabs and slices that made her tremble and sapped her of her energy. Screw him for having that effect on her and especially for thinking she had the luxury of being without any feeling for him at all.  

It was self-preservation again that moved her thumb silently to the end button to hang up on Petyr. She stared out the windshield, feeling about as empty and lost as she had the day she walked out. His offenses were only stacking up and she wondered whether she ever knew the man at all. He knew about Dany. Hell, he’d even done business with her. More than that, he’d done business with the enemy using their children’s assets! He implied that Sansa was unpredictable, but it was him that was changing the game on her. Was there no low he wouldn't sink to?

Jon’s hand found hers as they drove. “I’m fine, Jon,” She lied. 

They had been sitting at a stoplight when he turned to her and wiped a tear from her cheek. He raised his hand to tell her that she wasn’t fooling anyone; she was very  _ not _ fine. She had no energy to argue with him and simply closed her eyes and leaned her head back as she felt the car accelerate. “Just drive, Jon. I just need us to drive for a bit.”

 


	11. Bargaining: Sparring Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hear that?” Petyr laughed to Sansa and then licked his lips, “I’m game for another go if you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!!!!

“UNCLE JON!” Elenei hollered as she bolted from Petyr’s car, across the grass and into Jon’s arms. “Ygritte! Daddy bought me dance classes!” 

Before their separation, Petyr and Sansa had discussed signing her up for dance lessons. He didn’t like the idea of waiting for them to reconcile before getting started on her classes, so he took the initiative and signed her up. His decision to do so hadn’t been entirely altruistic, as he’d purposefully chosen one of Sansa’s nights. It was his way of stealing more time, planning to be in attendance for each and every one of his little princess’s lessons. 

“That’s great, Elenei.” 

Petyr instantly recognized the voice to be Robb’s. Turning his head to inspect the man revealed the rest of the Starks standing close by, with the exception of Bran. Sansa brought all the mobile members of the Stark Wolf Pack for a simple pick up. He would have been offended by her flaunting her large family at him when his own had been torn apart, but knew it was the most obvious safety measure to take given the circumstances. Another Lannister cub had met its death, and while not many people in the city were shedding him any tears, Jaime and Cersei’s rage would be expected. 

The smartest thing for Sansa to do would be to turn tail and run back into his welcoming arms. Begging him for forgiveness would be a nice added touch if she felt generous. For a moment, he pictured her face splotchy with tears reaching for his belt buckle as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Petyr.” He stifled his pleasure at the mental image of her promising not to ever dare leave him again as she sank to her knees before him. 

He surveyed the pack as he approached. Robb shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his brow furrowed in a protective expression. It made sense that being the eldest, regardless of his wayward priorities, he would feel a natural responsibility toward his siblings when near them. As the eldest, it made sense for him to assume alpha-status; however, that was a position Sansa had dominated for years and it was hard to take the man and his fairweather sense of familial duty seriously. Sansa was hands down the man of that house. 

Robb’s wife stood by him, uncomfortable and uncertain in her stance, much like Ygritte. Petyr knew that Ygritte was good for Jon overall, being the first woman to accept his lack of a tongue, but felt the man deserved someone who accepted more than his physical shortcomings, but also the world he lived in. It was true that in the earlier days of his relationship with Sansa, Petyr felt no small amount of envy over Jon. He was her rock, someone she could truly count on. While Petyr appreciated that Sansa had someone so loyal on her side, he couldn’t help wishing that it was he she turned to in all things. Years of constant assurances and eavesdropping on their private conversations helped Petyr look past whatever envy he felt and grow a respect for the man himself. 

Petyr glanced over to where Jon stood. His mouth was tight and his brow wrinkled in clear conflict. It was not so easy for him to erase the past seven years embracing Petyr as a member of the family. He didn’t look that far off from Rickon, who wore a guilty expression. Were it anyone else, Petyr would wonder if there was some sort of trap he was about to walk into. It was Rickon, however. He wore a guilty expression anytime he was around tension. 

Unlike Talisa and Ygritte, Gendry appeared strong and confident. He knew exactly what he was doing, standing by Arya’s side. Keeping her and their baby safe from any possible threat while she supported her sister. Arya’s gaze was neither warm nor harsh and judgemental like Robb. It was instead one of warning. Her eyes told him,  _ hurt her and I’ll hurt you. _ Petyr learned early on in his reign the importance of breaking people who felt cocky enough to look at him in such a way. Arya was different, however. Not only was she protected by her relation to Sansa, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but admiration for her fearlessness.

It was quite the little pack that circled Sansa, all with the best of intentions for their sister, but they had to know that he could protect her best.  _ She _ had to know that. Brave as the Starks were, it was Petyr that had the most resources and experience. He was the strongest, most logical choice in protector. 

It had been two days since the meeting between the two queens. Two days since Joffrey Lannister in his sedated state, ate a lunch of broken glass and bled to death from the inside. Everyone was in high alert, even Oberyn, not native to the city. Petyr appreciated that Sansa would take the extra precaution of dragging her family out to the park to surround her and their children as they made their exchange. He couldn’t, however, help the pleasurable thought that perhaps Sansa had also insisted on their presence due to the discomfort she felt in his. It was an encouraging thought. Any feeling was feeling. 

Petyr was no fool. He knew that however furious he was with her for leaving him, it was an anger that would pass. His desire for her back in his arms and in his bed would never leave him. Petyr wasn’t silly enough to believe in fate or soulmates or any supernatural force that linked one person to another until their end of days. He had however, studied people enough to see the importance of holding onto a person who gave acceptance when others would not, who met needs that had prior been left unmet. Sansa, for her imperfections, had given him much more than anyone else ever had or ever would and he’d be damned if he’d allow his temper to keep them apart a moment longer than necessary. 

He inhaled, allowing the air to fill his lungs and calm the rapid beat of his heart. The last time he and his gorgeous headstrong wife had been face to face without some sort of barrier like a windshield, he had been buried inside her, her breath hot against his neck as she clutched his chest. His fingers dug deep into her hips as he thrust hard and unrelenting into her body, so soft and wet as it took the beating he issued. 

It was perfect.

No, it wasn’t some beautiful and romantic rejoining, and no it didn’t result in them holding hands and renewing their vows immediately afterward. But, it was just what he needed, all the same. So many questions were answered as he bucked into her, the intoxicating aroma of their mixed sex filling his nostrils, the sound of her lust-filled submission ringing in his ears. She was as much his then as she was the day he’d won her. 

With the way she responded to him, this whole separation had to have been an issue of pride, some sort of precedent she was valuing rather highly at the moment. Wasn’t it she who kicked her shoes off and peeled her pants down in one fluid motion? Wasn’t it she who met him just as quickly as he’d met her, and ripped his shirt open, leaving buttons in need of repair? He may have lifted her and set her beautiful bare ass on his desk, but he was certain that she jumped into his embrace and was only too ready to sit back and offer absolutely no resistance when he pushed her legs apart. 

Long after she left, when he’d bent to sniff the papers she’d been splayed upon, he thought the enthusiastic way she welcomed him inside her body had to be proof of her continued devotion. It had certainly felt so at the time, until she backed away from him, quickly covering herself. She didn’t even bother to clean up as she told him it had all been a mistake. 

_ A mistake? _

It was no more a mistake than breathing. It was instinct for mates to join, and on their most primitive level, that’s what they were: mates. They were the most compatible with each other, more so than any other person that either of them had ever encountered. Time and a lot of hits and misses testified to that, and so had the two healthy children they shared. Sansa was younger; perhaps she was naive enough to miss that obvious fact. He could forgive her for that. 

“Petyr?”

He blinked and focused on the ice blue eyes in front of him, somewhat colder than normal. He wondered if she’d ever look at him like she used to, warm and welcoming. 

“Petyr, he’s hungry,” she scowled. 

Petyr glanced down to the baby in his arms, reaching for his mother. “He’s fine, so you can drop the hysterics.” 

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Or maybe he had. Petyr had decided to push his anger aside when he saw her next, realizing how unproductive it had been. The last thing he meant to do was bait her with it. She plucked Durran from his arms and shot him a frosty glare. For a moment, he wondered if tiny missiles would fire from her eyes and strike him dead.

Sansa turned all of her attention to the baby in her arms, cooing down to him, “Oh Mumma missed you so much! Yes, I did.” Durran was showered with kiss after kiss and Petyr fantasized about taking his son’s place. 

She turned and walked to the park bench as she held Durran with one hand and unbuttoned her shirt with the other. Petyr followed behind, smirking at the way she glanced over her shoulder at him and picked up her pace. She didn’t need to, the pack had already surrounded, keeping him as far apart from her as possible. Elenei charged for the swings, and Arya followed, giving her vacant smiles as she watched Petyr like a hawk. Gendry stayed by her and kept Elenei’s attention on them. Either the man was completely ignorant as to the tension in the air, or he was great at playing aloof. Petyr would bet money that it was blissful ignorance, his only true focus being the sinewy sister he may have impregnated. Petyr thanked a god he didn’t believe in that Bronn had managed to stay out of this entirely. The man was a solid hire and he’d hate to lose his skill over drama between himself and Sansa. 

Robb and his wife walked with Sansa while Jon and Ygritte stood by the bench she’d chosen. Talisa rifled through the diaper bag she’d taken from Brune and handed Sansa the cover-up she wore whenever she breastfed in public. She’d agreed to use it at Petyr’s request when they’d first bought it, rolling her eyes and telling him that breastfeeding wasn’t sexual. At the time, he told her that he agreed, it wasn’t sexual at all to the baby being fed. He also then explained that given an ample enough view of a breast, it was easy for lusty men to edit out the baby attached to it. Sansa told him that he was being silly, but humored him all the same. 

As he watched her hand reach inside her shirt and shift around, he hoped she’d feel rebellious and forego the cover-up just to spite him. The way she held it in her hand and let her eyes slide to him suggested that she was considering it. He cursed when her lips tightened and she pulled the strap over her head, letting the material drape over the front of her.

He waited for her to sit on the bench first before he silently perched beside her. He started to wonder if she knew he was there, so focused on the baby attached to her breast, smiling down at him from her private view. Ygritte and Robb had both crossed their arms, looking put out by Petyr’s presence, but self-aware enough to hold their tongue. Talisa kept her head down, looking through the bag, taking note of what supplies needed replenishing. A quick glance Jon’s way revealed him to be looking back in uncertainty. It was clear the man wasn’t sure how to respond to Petyr’s presence. 

Petyr smiled back at him, appreciating the fact that Jon suffered some inner turmoil over him at all. It was nice to feel cared about in some way. He then leaned back, hoping the change in position would catch Sansa’s notice. It also offered a better vantage point to watch Arya in his periphery. Of all the Starks, she was the most deadly, even in her condition. More than that, she was the only one that understood the grittier side to business, and didn’t seem to hold it against him. He wondered if her vigilant gaze was purely out a sense of familial duty, or if she’d actually begun to turn on him as well. 

“Is there a reason why you’re still here, Petyr?” Sansa asked, her tone much harsher than moments before when she was addressing their son. 

“Can’t a man enjoy a day in the park with his family?” Petyr smiled, attempting some pleasantries to disarm her. If they were ever going to get past their anger, they would need to be able to carry on a conversation without wanting to rip each other apart. 

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. When she opened her mouth to say something, she stopped, apparently deciding against whatever it was. He leaned into her, as if a closer proximity would pull it out of her. He had nothing to lose in knowing. If it was just another insult, he would simply add it to the growing stack she’d issued since their split. If it were something sincere, however, he wanted to know.

When the words didn’t come, he knew she’d made up her mind to hold her tongue. He cleared his throat and tried to bridge the gap, “I wanted to thank you for allowing me to keep the kids an extra night.”

“You are welcome.” Each word was uttered pointedly, and he could tell it was killing her to be so polite. He bit the inside of his cheek trying not to outright laugh at the stilted way they both attempted cordiality. His eyes traveled down to her lap, her skirt riding up a little with her crossed legs, finding it easier to look at her legs than her eyes. He noted her lack of stockings and wondered if she forwent them because she knew she’d be seeing him, or because she had to know that the Lannisters would be watching. Sansa always looked good for Cersei, no matter what the circumstance. Having spent the past eighteen days without his wife, Petyr hated that Cersei ranked higher in Sansa’s need to please department than he did. 

He closed his eyes before she caught him looking and took a deep breath. He told himself that she dressed up for him and their appointment. Joffrey was dead and Sansa was understandably the number one suspect, being that she was the only one with him at the time and she’d been seated next to him throughout the lunch he was  _ poisoned _ during. Whatever Sansa’s relationship to Cersei had been, it was over now. It had to be. There was no way their strange connection could survive that. 

Fuck, that meant his relationship with Jaime was at an end as well. Jaime was no great loss, but going to war with the Lannisters while Sansa was miles away from the safety of their home was the last thing Petyr wanted. A battle against Tyrion wasn’t very enticing either. 

He could hear Sansa shift beside him, the movement of material and a little sigh of exasperation. He’d opened his eyes to see her pull Durran out from under the cover and hold him to her chest as she adjusted her shirt. “Everything alright?” He asked. 

Sansa glared at him, then plastered a fake smile on her face as she waved at Elenei and quietly answered, “I would tell you to mind your own business and kindly fuck off, but it concerns Durran so I’ll answer this question.”

Petyr’s eyes widened. He had expected her to be annoyed with his presence, and perhaps show him the same level level of frustration and anger that she had right along. Not the pure loathing that had poured from her lips just then. 

“He stopped feeding--early. I don’t know how much he’s eaten today, so I don’t know whether or not to be concerned about it.” She pulled the cover off herself and straightened in the seat as she spoke, “Where this involves the wellbeing of a child that we share, I would appreciate it if you told me whether or not you’ve already fed him this morning.” 

Her words and her posture were as rigid as the bench beneath them. She’d never been this cold and stiff to him. That wasn’t to say that she hadn’t tried to be in the past, but she’d never succeeded. She’d always relented, never able to carry on that way. He knew she was angry about the way he’d taken her in his office, but she’d been fiery about it, not cold as she was now. Something happened between now and then. “Something’s different. What happened since I saw you last?”

Sansa ignored his question. “Did you or did you not feed our son already?”

Seeing his in, Petyr bargained, “I’ll tell you, if you tell me what’s happened.” 

“Oh! He would leverage information on his kids just to get you to talk to him, Sansa.” Robb commented cynically. 

Petyr sneered at him, seeing Jon’s hands fly up out of the corner of his eye. Ygritte pulled at Jon’s shoulder, no doubt trying to settle him down. Petyr was too busy glaring at Robb to see what Jon was saying. Sansa severed their stare down as she answered, “Of course he would. Nothing’s off limits to Littlefinger, not even his own children.” 

_ Littlefinger?  _

Where was this coming from? He allowed his face to twist in curiosity. “Sansa--”

“Don’t bother,” she cut him off and waved again at Elenei. “Keep smiling for Elenei. As pathetic as you are, you’re at least capable of putting on a good show.”

Petyr forced a less than genuine grin as he looked out at his daughter, giggling and pumping her legs higher on the swing. “Am I to know why you hate me so much more all of the sudden?” 

“As if you didn’t know!” Robb exclaimed. 

“Robb,” Talisa warned. “Perhaps we should allow them a moment alone?” 

“Not a chance. Like I’d allow that sleaze bucket alone with my sister now,” Robb scoffed. 

Jon’s hands flew up to tell him that it was Sansa’s choice what she wanted. Robb shook his head, “No. He fucked over his children’s future. He’s shit. You know it, I know it, and Sansa needs reminding.” 

What in the hell was he talking about?  _ Fucked over his children’s future?  _ Petyr could see the little wrinkle of irritation in Sansa’s brow and felt no little amount of satisfaction when she cleared her throat and said, “Actually, Robb, I think Elenei would prefer some time with her uncle, seeing as how she doesn’t get to see you much. Talisa, you don’t mind, do you?”

Robb shot her a look of betrayal and Talisa tugged at his arm. He didn’t move at first, standing his ground as if his disapproval of Petyr mattered to anyone. Jon took a step forward, bringing Ygritte with him and motioned for Robb to follow. Talisa took the cue and asked Sansa, “I see a baby swing, would you like me to take Durran?” 

“Please,” Sansa asked with a smile as she handed him to her. Durran offered no protest, kicking his legs excitedly and slapping at Talisa’s shoulder when she took him. Ygritte played peek-a-boo with him over her shoulder and Jon wrapped his arm around her, leading them forward. 

Sansa heaved a sigh at Robb, noting his lack of departure and said, “I think Arya’s arms are getting tired. You should  _ go _ , and take over pushing Elenei.” 

It was a flimsy excuse. Gendry was with her, and he was a welder by trade. Out of all of them, his arms would never tire. Sansa didn’t need a false pretense to order her brother away, though it had been a courtesy to offer him one. Petyr was proud of her for controlling her temper enough to not simply banish him on the spot. If there was one thing Petyr could count on, it was Sansa’s rebellious nature, her incessant need to spit in the face of any sort of supposed authority. Robb was trying to play big brother and it was only encouraging their distance.  _ Stupid move kid, _ Petyr grinned to himself.

Robb reluctantly receded, walking backwards a couple of steps, eyeing him as if to silently say he was watching him. Petyr’s private smile almost turned to an outright laugh. Oberyn watched Petyr, the Lannister’s watched Petyr, Sansa watched Petyr, and perhaps even Jorah Mormont of Greyscale Shipping was watching Petyr. Robb Stark from under a rock in the middle of nowhere watched his own body for signs of disease and infection. He did not watch Petyr Littlefinger Baelish, other than to sit back in awe of just how out of his league he was. Robb’s knowledge was dated and only helped Sansa intermittently. Petyr highly doubted the Karstarks would be loyal enough to such an intermittent Stark that they would agree to trail Littlefinger. Robb had no power but the whispers he put in Sansa’s ear. 

“He doesn’t like me much,” Petyr said quietly to Sansa as he watched Robb finally turn around and join the rest of the pack that surrounded his children. 

Sansa smiled and he wasn’t sure if it was another staged one for the kids, or a wry one meant for him. It was difficult to tell with her head turned away from him. “He wants more for me.” 

She’d sent him away but was still defending him. “Starks stick together, that sort of thing?” 

“Something like that,” she admitted. 

Another couple of excruciatingly long minutes passed, and though there was more than a foot of space between them on the bench, Petyr appreciated their proximity. It was the closest they’d been since that day in his office. Petyr stared at the hair he remembered gripping so tightly as she mewled into him with each dominating thrust into her. She was his. It was undeniable, try as she might. In that moment, she was his. “Why are you so angry?” 

“Allow me to choose from the list of reasons,” Sansa snarked. “Shall I pick from the bottom, and repeat myself? You haven’t been listening anyway.” 

Petyr cut right to the chase, irritated that it was even a question, “Why not start with what Robb meant when he insinuated that I don’t care about my children?” 

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. “I understand that due to our pending divorce, you--”

“No. Don’t use that word. We still have seven more sessions and a lot can happen between now and our last,” Petyr shook his head, despising her use of the D-word. 

She sighed, “Petyr, we’re done. I was angry when I left you. With time that may have been repaired. But you’ve crossed so many lines, and I’m not even angry with you anymore.”

Bullshit. She looked fit to murder. He was about to tell her so when her hardened voice added, “I’ve gone past anger and come to  _ hate _ you for what you’ve done.”

“Hate?” Petyr felt his chest tighten. Fuck. Things had gone from out of control to completely off the rails.

Sansa flipped her hair over her shoulder, and carried on. “We have children together, so we owe it to them to show each other some level of respect. Especially in front of them.” She glanced doubtfully his way, “Even if you have to fake it, Petyr.”

Fake it? Petyr never had to pretend to respect Sansa, she was a strong woman, a good mother, and a ruthless boss. He fought to regain some control of the situation, knowing the best way to do that was to dismiss her. “Hate?” He repeated. Then he rolled his eyes for effect. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” 

She visibly twitched with rage as she pointed at their children and barked, “For them! For them, I tried to reason with you, but you just couldn’t. You’re just such a piece of shit.” 

“So I’ve been told.” Insults like that never affected him, and she knew that.

She ignored his quip. “How could I ever love you again, knowing how little you love our children?” 

“Never question how much I love our children,” he growled. “They are you and me and they are perfect.” 

Sansa smoothed her hands over her skirt and inhaled, calming the boiling hatred she was running on down to a simmer as she said, “I know about the properties, Petyr.”

“What properties?” He’d never felt more in the dark. He ran through the most recent properties he’d had any dealings in, trying to think of what she was referring to. 

She raised her brow at him, “It’s juvenile to play dumb.” 

And then hit him. Shit. He was caught. His stomach sank. “Look, I am sorry about the Doghouse, but--” 

Her eyes widened in alarm and he suddenly realized that whatever she knew, it hadn’t been that. Fuck. He could hear the emotion in her voice as she said, “The Doghouse,  _ seriously? _ ” Her eyes turned glassy, and though her eyeliner covered any red-rim she might have suffered, Petyr could see the tell-tale swelling under her eyes. This meant only one thing: his fierce wife was going to cry. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

It was different when he was actually trying to hurt her, needing her to care enough about him to respond, more than he needed her happiness. This was different. He hadn’t meant for this. She wasn’t supposed to ever find out about his dealings with Greyscale. He lifted his hand to reach for her, and she blinked furiously, fighting back any tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks. She gave a sick chuckle as she assured him, “No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”

“What does that mean?” 

“Nothing.” She shook her head quickly and raised her chin the way she did each time she meant to distance herself from something-- _ someone _ . “Honestly, Petyr.” Her voice condescending, “I’m glad to see you’re moving on.” 

Lie. 

Where a moment ago he felt terrible for how hurt she’d been, her obvious lie gave him life. She’d let her mask slip, showing him just how rattled she was. No matter how much she supposedly ‘hated’ him, she still loved him. It wasn’t too late. He had to believe that. 

“I haven’t moved on, Sansa. I won’t. You’re it for me. All there is or ever will be.” 

She scoffed. 

He needed to change tactics. She clearly wasn’t willing to go for any sort of professions of undying love, so he decided to appeal to her more practical side. “Though we are apart, there is still business to conduct. You know that.” His palms itched to touch her, watching the storm behind her eyes as she pieced through his words, deciding fact from fiction. “Jaime wanted me to let Jorah into the city. To do that, properties were necessary. You know how this game is played.” 

Sansa let some air escape and Petyr knew she was seeing the truth. Then her expression darkened as she countered, “Jorah?” 

He laughed, “Very funny, Sansa.” She wouldn’t have known about the Doghouse if she hadn’t met with Greyscale Shipping. She had to have met the weathered man that Varys employed so long ago. Perhaps that was the thorn in her side. Petyr could understand if it was. He still hadn’t forgiven his right hand man for making such a poor choice so long ago, and meant to make the man pay with his piano wire. 

“Dany Drogo is not a joke,” Sansa scowled. 

Dany Drogo. So she had known about Jorah Mormont, the man who brutally murdered Dany Drogo and her infant son before fleeing the country like an ameteur. “Don’t worry, Sansa. Varys knows he fucked up and will earn his way back into our good graces soon enough.” 

Rather than appear to know what he was talking about, she stared back at him completely bewildered. “Varys?” 

“Yes, he hired Jorah Mormont to kill Dany and after he did, he fled across the narrow sea and started Greyscale.” Even as Petyr said it, he questioned it. Jorah didn’t appear to be much of a thinker, his responses sounding rehearsed. Whoever he tied himself to must have been making all the big boy decisions. 

Sansa sighed deeply and looked down at her hands. “He didn’t kill her, Petyr. He staged the photo.” 

“The baby’s alive?” He asked, not fully processing her words, but latching onto the thing that had upset her the most over the years. 

“No. He was, but he didn’t make it across the water. Dany’s just as bitter as she was the day I killed Drogo, and she’s built Greyscale up, under Mormont’s name.” Sansa played with her hands as she explained. 

So that’s what this was. Sansa was upset that Dany was alive and Petyr put up properties to her of all people. He took a deep breath to calm his urge to jump with glee. If Sansa was willing to get this worked up over the Doghouse going to Dany, she definitely still loved him. “I’ll kill her for you, Sansa. I promise it.” 

She bit her lip and he knew she was considering it. He loved that she did. Her voice hardened as she responded, “The other properties belonged to our children.” 

Petyr felt the wind knock out of him. She wasn’t meant to know about that. Cersei was such a pain in the ass, he was glad another one of her children died. Petyr sighed, “It was for show, Sansa.”

“Bullshit. They are coming across the sea and setting up shop in properties entrusted to  _ our children _ .” 

Petyr popped a mint in his mouth and cracked it between his teeth instantly. “Temporarily.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s one thing for you to throw away whatever we shared in our--” she paused searching for the word. “Happier days. It’s another for you to use what belongs to our children in your schemes.” 

He instantly popped another mint in his mouth. “I told you, it’s temporary. Just to make them feel comfortable to get us faster shipping. Then I planned to rip it all out from under them.” He swallowed before adding, “It will be years before our kids are old enough to ever even need them.” 

“That’s not the point. Why leverage them at all? Surely you have enough assets on your own to temp that bitch and her new husband with?” Sansa’s voice found it’s edge again. 

“I needed to match Jaime, that’s all,” Petyr explained quickly. 

Sansa laughed and rolled her eyes. “And it was worth the trouble to add in one semi-profitable bar? That doesn’t seem standard.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s not.” 

“Then why leverage _ that _ ?” Sansa turned to face him, all evidence of her sadness gone, replaced by a cold calculating stare. 

He wondered if her hatred for him over the children’s assets had subsided when he explained that it wasn’t meant to be a permanent state of affairs. They were talking, really talking, and she’d drawn the conversation back to the Doghouse. He couldn’t help but see the usefulness in that. “I wanted Jaime to put up the Falcon’s Nest.” 

Sansa’s mouth opened in surprise. “Why?” 

“ _ Unlike us _ , Jaime and Cersei’s hardships have only brought them closer together.” He knew the smart play would have been to keep a leash on his pain, but Petyr couldn’t resist the opportunity to issue the jab. He continued quickly, ignoring Sansa’s narrowed gaze as he explained, “It is rumored that they met in the Falcon’s Nest, much like us in the Doghouse.” 

“Why does this matter?” 

He threw his arm over the back of the bench as he turned to her. He took the opportunity to lean in a little. “Jaime would never part with that particular bar.”

“So glad you view everything as expendable,” Sansa bristled. 

Petyr bit back a smile. “Not everything.” 

“You could have fooled me.” 

“It appears as though I have.” Careful to move his fingertips ever so gently, he stroked a stray lock of red resting on the back of the bench behind her. He kept his eyes on hers, willing her not to catch the stolen caress. 

She scowled at him, though didn’t pull away. Perhaps she truly hadn’t noticed. 

“I’m not anymore willing to part with the Doghouse than Jaime is the Falcon’s Nest,” Petyr explained, knowing her own anger was clouding her ability to think. “Getting him to agree to put up a property he has no intention of ever parting with was my way of learning how he truly feels about the Mormonts--Dany.” 

“So you did know it was her!” Sansa glared at him. 

He sighed. “No, of course not.” 

“Would you have told me if you did?” Sansa eyed him. 

He paused, trying to decide the best answer: truth or lie. On impulse he told the truth, “No.” 

Sansa laughed and stood up. “I’ve never regretted anything more in my life, than you.”

“You’re angry.” He refused to believe she truly felt that way. Sansa was a professional at being hurtful, that didn’t mean she actually meant the things she said.  

“And we’re done.” 

“No,” he stood up. “We definitely aren’t done. Cersei’s going to kill you for what happened to her son, and I’m the best chance you have at staying alive.”

Sansa dismissed him. “You don’t know that. Joffrey died from broken glass. When would I have slipped huge shards of glass in his food without either Cersei or Myrcella noticing that? Joffrey was sedated, so I understand how he’d miss it, even if he was the one eating it. But they were there with me, Petyr. Logistically speaking, it’s not possible to find me at fault.” 

“Then who is?” He countered quickly, taking a step forward. “Dany?” Frustrated over how little concern she had for her own self-preservation, Petyr felt his voice raise in an accusatory tone as he said, “The woman who arrived after you, sat as far away from Joffrey as possible, and then left before you? The woman with absolutely no motive at all whatsoever?”

“You talk like you were watching. If you were watching, you saw her. You did know, you lying sack of shit!” Sansa yelled. 

“NO!” He growled, barely noticing the pack slowly closing around him. “My men said you met with Cersei and two other women, one dark skinned and one blonde! They did not say Dany!” 

Sansa balled her fists, snarling her response, “Get out of my sight!” 

“No. Not until you tell me how you intend to handle this,” Petyr took another step forward, fighting the urge to grab her and force her into his arms. He knew it would be counterproductive, but he was worried and while it would have upset her further, it would have at least calmed him.

“Bad Daddy! Bad Mummy!” Little Elenei tore across the playground, a blur of jet black hair and beat red face. “Stop being mean and fighting!”

“ _ Elenei! _ ” Sansa gasped, reaching for her. 

Elenei pulled away from her. “No hugs!”

Petyr bent down, “Princess--”

“Say sorry to each other,” she instructed. Teary eyed, she crossed her little arms in front of her chest, showing that she meant business.

Rickon took her hand in his and gently tugged her towards him. “Come on Laney, let's ditch these losers.” 

“Be a nice Mummy and Daddy!” Elenei glared at both of her parents before she allowed herself to be lead away. 

Sansa cleared her throat. “That wasn’t okay, Petyr. She shouldn’t have seen us like that.”

“Parents don’t always get along, Sansa.” He thought of any one of the terrible fights he was forced to witness between borrowed parents growing up. “It’s not the end of the world if we disagree in front of the kids from time to time. Sheltering them doesn’t help either.” Petyr justified his own escalation. 

Sansa blinked back at him, not taking kindly to the way he brushed off her concern. He wasn’t normally so dismissive of things that impacted the children either, but he was more concerned with Sansa’s safety. Not willing to let the subject rest, Petyr pressed on. “Cersei is a very real threat and you know I can protect you.”

“Fuck your protection, Baelish!” Robb stepped in front of Sansa. “My sister will be just fine.” 

Petyr glanced to make sure Elenei was far enough away before he warned through his teeth, “Walk away, before you get hurt.”

Robb laughed, “I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be,” Petyr grinned, taking too much pleasure in saying so.

Jon moved to stand between the two of them, holding his hands up as if he needed to break up a fight before it started. That wasn’t how Petyr worked. All he need do was snap his fingers and Brune would be at his side in an instant awaiting orders. Jon gave him a pleading look and raised his hands to ask them to keep the peace. 

Eyeing Jon and Robb, Petyr spoke around them to Sansa. “Answer this,  _ wife _ , has Cersei talked to you at all since that day?” 

“Silence doesn’t mean a thing,” Sansa shot back. “It’s standard protocol not to engage after a death and you know that. Cersei and I are fine. There is no threat here.” 

“Petyr.” Arya came into view with a hulking Gendry standing behind her, a hand on each shoulder. “You should probably leave before Elenei gets upset again. Sansa will be fine. We take care of our own.”

He knew they would try. That didn’t mean they would succeed. They were a group of young pups, tied only by blood and nothing more. Their pack was not cohesive at all. The Lannisters were too great of a rival for them to stand a chance without his assistance. 

Arya added, “You should give each other a little space to cool down.” 

“Two hours,” Petyr pointed at his watch. “Don’t even bother trying to get out of it.” 

Sansa’s nostrils flared. “I’m well aware of my obligations.”

Petyr paused a moment before turning, telling himself to take his time as he left. They were all so riled that it did no good to give them a false sense of victory in his departure. They hadn’t made him leave, he was done with them anyway, having made his point loud and clear.

And two hours and six minutes later, when he sat on Dr. Seaworth’s worn leather couch, having replayed his confrontation with Sansa over and over in his head, he wondered if any of it stuck with her. Davos made small talk that Petyr barely paid any attention to, so focused on the expressions on Sansa’s face, the words she slapped him with, and the tears that almost escaped her. 

His wife loved him. There was no doubt about that, not even to her. The question was not how to make her see it, but instead how to make her see it as enough. Anger was such an easy route to take, and fuck if the woman didn’t push every damn button he had. He eyed the clock, and rubbed his hand over his leg as if to remove some lint. 

“You seem much more uncomfortable today than during our last appointment,” Davos noted. 

Petyr offered him a smile that didn’t touch his eyes as he teased, “Perhaps it’s because I know what I’m in for now with all this counseling business.” Or perhaps it’s because he seemed to be the only person who saw the very real threat of the Lannisters. 

Davos gave a hearty grin. “Indeed. Though, now at least, you know how to best strategize.”

“Yes, it’s very important that I _ win  _ at counseling,” Petyr joked. 

“Isn’t it?” Davos arched a brow at him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that it’s not something one can win or lose at? That it’s about reconnection and collaboration?” Petyr asked, amused by the fact that he had to tell his own counselor this. 

The electric tea kettle on the windowsill whistled and Davos rose, holding a mug up to Petyr in offering. Petyr waved him off, uninterested. Davos poured the hot water in the mug and dropped a teabag in it. “That would be misleading, wouldn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Well, if you don’t reconcile by the end of your sessions, Sansa’s petition for divorce may go through.” Davos pulled the thread up and down, steeping the tea as he walked. “It’s my understanding that, you are not in favor of a divorce and therefore, should one go through, it would be quite upsetting to you.” 

Petyr inhaled, “Quite.”

“One might even consider it a  _ loss _ ,” Davos pointed out as he blew on the tea. 

Petyr worked to make his sneer a smile. Davos didn’t appear to notice, and slurped the smallest sip of his tea, cursing at the heat of it. It wasn’t the most professional look, but it did attest to the man’s honest nature. “If you can lose something, then surely you can win it.”

“Surely,” Petyr agreed, finding himself more and more intrigued by the good doctor. He kept to himself that if counseling didn’t work he’d just have Sansa’s lawyer gutted before they could ever go to court. Anyone that dared aid in their separation would meet the same fate. Counseling was simply the more civilized approach to keeping her. 

Davos took another tentative sip and then winced at the burn. “Have you ever told her that? That you wanted to win her?” 

Petyr eyed the clock again and silently sighed, refusing to shift in his seat uncomfortably as his body was wont to do. His jaw clenched in irritation. Only Sansa could do this to him, make him squirm like a schoolboy awaiting either punishment or recognition from the sexy teacher who held his future in the palm of her hand. Petyr tried not to examine too closely that in this hypothetical world Sansa was the older more mature one and he was reduced to such a childish representation.

“Or do you typically just say you don’t want to lose her?” Davos asked, pulling Petyr from his thoughts. “There’s a difference between them, you know. Do you see it?” 

“One’s more confident and the other more insecure,” Petyr answered with a huff. This was not the first time he’d come face to face with his insecurities. He felt irritated over the fact that he was paying this man thousands of dollars to tell him what should be common sense.

“Sure,” Davos shrugged. “Though, that’s not exactly the point.” 

“Isn’t it?” Petyr was used to his insecurity playing a large part in his relationship with Sansa. His murder toll wouldn’t be so high with anyone else. That was in part due to the fact that no other woman would relish his jealousy the way Sansa did, encouraging and provoking it. It was a fault she cherished rather than admonished him for. He felt a tingle shoot through his lap, distracting him from Dr. Seaworth’s counsel as he considered how much more attractive she was in her acceptance of him. 

Petyr willed the growing semi down and considered that his protectiveness over his wife was also due to his own concern that perhaps he wasn’t enough to stir the same level of admiration in her. Some days he felt he was too old for her, other times he worried he couldn’t keep up, but most of the time his insecurities ran deeper. 

He was a motherless bastard, not wanted by either the man that spat his spunk inside the woman that bore him. Neither was he wanted by the junkie who named him before she escaped the maternity ward to chase her next fix. As an infant, he fevered through withdrawals at the ripe age of an hour old, and had been on his own ever since, completely and utterly unwanted. Not by the nurses paid to shake powder in a bottle and jam it in his mouth while they typed out their notes one-handed, cursing whenever he shit himself. Not by the foster homes that took the government check and set him about various chores to earn the keep already paid for. And sure as hell, not by the many women who crawled to him on their hands and knees, sucking his cock as they probed the inside of his pocket, searching for a stray coin. 

Sansa showed him  _ actual _ affection. He’d been captivated by her beauty and strong will at first, though he knew that would have faded over time. Even the mystery that surrounded her wouldn’t have been enough to sustain his attention past the first couple of weeks. Sansa brought it to another level, however. She proved time and time again, that while she adored being worshiped by him, she actually loved him too. What a novel concept.  

She was the only woman that bothered to hold him close and kiss his worry away, being whatever he needed,  _ whenever _ he needed. The woman went from soft and nurturing to hard and punishing at the slightest suggestion he might require one over the other. It wasn’t due to some insecurity or need to be needed as it was for him either, but instead simply because she loved him enough to be everything for him. Sansa Stark was perfection and he knew instantly he needed to strip her of her Stark status and brand her with Baelish. 

Petyr may have taken her from the Hound so many years ago, but she took him from the loneliness and despair that he’d learned to survive in. She may be rejecting him now, but that didn’t erase the seven years of heaven that she alone gave him. Davos hinting that Petyr’s motive was purely insecurity was the last thing he needed to hear, because it was the first thing he knew. 

“The point is, saying you don’t want to lose her just screams a need at her; it’s passively praying for her to feel motivated enough to meet your need. As if you’re completely helpless in the matter, a neutered pup licking stitches and phantom balls.” 

Petyr’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re a very daring man.” 

“I’m an honest man, Petyr. We established that on the first day, didn’t we?”

Petyr ran his tongue over his teeth, sucking them in irritation, as he considered Dr. Davos Seaworth more closely. He was brazen, Petyr would give him that. Before he could retort, Davos added, “Saying you plan to win her, however, declares an intention meant to be followed through on your part. It’s  _ action _ .” 

Davos took another sip of his tea, wincing less over the heat of it. “A powerful man like yourself may be used to sitting back and having others put forth all the effort to come to you, but in intimate partner relationships, that’s not a very reasonable expectation--even if you did nothing to precipitate the separation.” 

Petyr blinked, considering the man’s words. 

Davos added, “Perhaps that’s why a man as persuasive as yourself has taken such a passive approach to saving--”

“Passive!” Petyr laughed incredulously. “She ran, and I followed! Not exactly a passive maneuver. And she moved out, and I…” 

Davos slurped more tea, clearly waiting for Petyr to explain. He would only be too glad to, if he knew himself. Petyr considered his actions after she moved out. He drank a lot, stalked her more than normal, and installed surveillance cameras in her hotel when she was staying there. Petyr quickly realized that Davos had a point. He hadn’t done anything to win her at all. He’d denied the situation was as serious as it was and then when he finally accepted the severity, he retreated like a dejected teenager. 

Looking around the office searching for a lifeline, Petyr realized that counseling in and of itself was an action. “She handed me divorce papers and I forced her to come to counseling!” 

“Mm,” Davos nodded. “Mandated clients usually have the biggest breakthroughs in couples counseling, it’s true.”

“Really?” 

“No,” Davos laughed. 

Petyr peered at him incredulously. Was this funny to him? “What do you want from me?” 

“I’m a simple man. Regular appointments and cashable checks, to be honest. Though it would be nice if you both got something from our time working together.” Petyr was so used to seeing smiling faces and empty eyes, that it was strange to see amusement in a pair of eyes that never touched the expression below it. Petyr examined Davos’ face closely, trying to understand it when Davos asked, “To get back to the point here, do you think the reason why you’ve been so passive is because you don’t feel as though you shoulder any blame in the matter?”

“Petyr’s never at fault. He’s completely blameless all the time.” 

Petyr looked up to see Sansa in the doorway and popped a mint in his mouth. She strode over to the farthest seat from him, and gingerly sat down as he glared at her and accused, “You’re late.”

“Hello, Dr. Sea--Davos,” she smiled at him, ignoring Petyr completely. 

Davos set his tea down and smiled back, “Hello, Sansa. I am pleasantly surprised to see you here today.” 

“Well, we do have an appointment,” she grinned, her body angled away from Petyr. 

“I appreciate you doing me the respect of making an appointment and then honoring it.” Davos gestured towards Petyr as he spoke to her, “I understand that our working relationship is new, and therefore we don’t have the history that you and Petyr have, so it is easier for you to offer me common courtesies.” 

Sansa sat back in her seat, smile still in place, seemingly unaware of where Davos was going with his point. Petyr smirked to himself seeing it coming a mile away when Davos continued, “Though, in couples work, it’s important to come to an agreement to at least offer each other the same level of courtesy you would offer a perfect stranger. Petyr expected you to be here at a certain time and you were late.” 

“Living up to his expectations isn’t my concern anymore,” Sansa bristled and Petyr watched, completely absorbed. He wondered if Davos would speak to her as he had him a moment ago. Conversely, it was a nice change of pace to see Sansa displeased with someone else. She flipped her hair over her shoulder refusing to look at Petyr as she spoke to Davos, “Besides, I was late because after Petyr and I exchanged the children, I left to be with my  _ paralyzed _ brother and his  _ pregnant _ girlfriend when the doctors met with them to discuss a successful transition back home.” 

“Is he moving into Kingsroad with you?” Petyr’s head lifted. He wondered who would be looking after Bran. 

Sansa remained silent for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer him. Finally, she heaved a sigh and kept her eyes on Davos as she said, “No. He’ll be moving back with Meera.” 

“That apartment is not handicap-accessible,” Petyr argued, not sure why he was. The strategic part of his brain had kicked into action when he realized that Bran’s health was improving enough to leave the hospital. 

Sansa’s sneered over her shoulder, “We’re all taking turns looking in on him until they find another apartment. Because that’s what family does, Petyr. We look out for each other.” 

Petyr clenched his jaw at the pack mentality that hadn’t left Sansa when she left the park. “Why not just have him--”

“Because it’s important for him as a man to make his own way,” she was quick to interrupt.

Petyr scoffed, rolling his eyes. That was just idiotic. The boy was disabled, his and Meera’s apartment wouldn’t suit his needs anymore. He had access to more wheelchair friendly accommodations, it was dumb not to use them. 

Sansa whipped around in her seat and snapped, “What’s the matter Petyr? Bran’s male pride suddenly isn’t a good enough reason for you? Funny, it was before.” 

It was possible that he deserved that. Silence stretched on until Davos broke it, sighing loudly before he said, “The both of you slept together, didn’t you?” 

Petyr’s eyes found Sansa’s, too surprised himself to take much pleasure in her look of alarm. When he didn’t bother disputing it, Sansa raised her chin and said, “I don’t see how that matters.” 

“Of course it matters,” Davos declared, as usual not mincing words. He waved one hand at them. “It’s all in your body language, the way you cut each other off. Last session you were closed up and guarded, now you’re all out guns blazing. You may like to fool yourselves into thinking sex can just be physical, no feelings, but it doesn’t work that way. Brains muck it up and make it matter.” 

Taking the opportunity to rub a professional opinion in her face, Petyr pointed out, “See, Sansa? It did mean something.” 

She fumed. 

Seeming not to notice Sansa’s frustration, Davos waved his hand in the air as he spoke, “I find in passionate relationships such as yours, it’s really very typical.” Petyr wasn’t sure how he liked being called typical, but Davos’ blunt nature had insulted him plenty already. “Sex is as much a release as crying is. The difference between sex and crying is that it takes a strong person to cry. It’s an act that is completely independent, involving no one else. Sex on the other hand, involves another person, hurting and impacting them as well--dragging them down with you, so to speak.” He paused for a second and then made it a point to gesture to both of them as he said, “Your choice to have sex while you’re separated really just highlights the dependent nature of your relationship.”

“I’m not dependent on Sansa.” 

“And I’m sure as hell not dependent on Petyr.” 

Petyr was quick to defend himself, “I’ve be around much longer than she has and I know the game. I don’t need her to survive.” She gave him a love and kindness that no one else had, but that didn’t mean he  _ needed _ it. His entire life before her proved to him that he could subsist without it.  

Sansa laughed and submitted her own proof, “I have my own connections, my own assets. I don’t depend on Petyr for anything.” 

Davos shook his head. “This is not tax paperwork, neither of you have to prove your head of household status here. I’m not saying either of you are dependent on the other for your financial support, or any material resources. What I’m saying is that in your relationship, you’ve both become dependent on each other to get all your emotional needs met.” Davos leaned forward and smiled, “Honestly, sex at such a time has been observed to either push people further apart or bring them closer together.” 

“Closer together?” Sansa asked. 

“Misery loves company.” Davos reached for his tea. “The closer together part is rare and usually unhealthy because neither of you learn to meet your own needs, and put a stop to that dependency.”

Sansa was the only woman who actually loved Petyr, and he had grown accustomed to that feeling in his life. He would obviously survive if he didn’t have it, but that didn’t mean he wished to go without it. 

His eyes scanned over Sansa thinking of the way she so easily submitted to him that day on his desk. It had been proof that the desire he felt was shared. Sansa would never have given in if she didn’t truly return the feelings; she’d fight tooth and nail to escape him if she didn’t want him. “What about fucking in order to prove something?” 

Sansa caught his meaning and didn’t take any more kindly to it than she had that day. She gave a sick laugh before she said, “Yeah, like you can be a lying conniving asshole and still get hard.”

He chuckled at that. He had wanted to put their anger aside, and focus on a more productive discussion but couldn’t help himself from retorting, “Only for a heartless bitch who gets wet for my pain.” 

Her eyes flashed to him, blue irises alight with her ire. Beyond the fury and frustration, there was something else, a lusty craving evident in the way her eyes dilate. As predicted, his biting words only worked to tickle all the nerve endings that visibly hardened some of her more intimate places, and possibly dampened others. 

“Whoa now! Let’s take a breather.” Davos raised both hands in the air, “Before you both go at it like rabbits on my couch. I’m all out of my leather wipes and Mrs. Seaworth said I can’t use pledge on leather.” 

Petyr would have laughed if he wasn’t so focused on Sansa, who had turned her focus to the door. 

Davos’ voice rumbled again. This time it was to ask, “Have either of you given any more thought to the perpetual problems we were talking about last time? You remember, Gottman?”

Sansa spoke up, “We don’t actually have perpetual problems.”

“You don’t? In all the years you’ve been together? In the lives you lead?” Davos doubted. 

Sansa smoothed her hands over her skirt and Petyr knew she felt uncomfortable with whatever it was she was about to say. She clarified, “We have current issues.” 

His thoughts fell back to their altercation in the park. “It’s not a problem to want to protect your family, to run a business.” He then pointed at her and said, “You never had a problem before with how I managed things.”

“You used to manage them differently,” Sansa reasoned. “We used to discuss things.”

“It sounds like, Sansa, you’re saying that there used to be more communication involved in the  decision-making in your marriage, but now you feel as though there’s less of a dialogue.” Davos rephrased her words, glancing at Petyr as he did. 

Petyr was considering what Davos had said, when he was cut off by Sansa, still annoyed. “Then one day you decided that consulting with me wasn’t necessary anymore, all because you wanted to do something nice for Bran. Being a cool brother in law to him was more important to you than being a supportive husband to me.” 

“I didn’t realize it was a choice, that I could only be one or the other,” Petyr defended.

Sansa rolled her eyes and spoke to Davos. “He knows better than that. He’s always trying so hard with my family, and usually I can appreciate it because he never had a family growing up and it’s never really been at the expense of our own relationship. But his non-stop need to be needed hurt us this time.” 

_ Need to be needed? _ Jesus, she sounded just like Rickon. Was this something he put in her head, or was it just something the Starks seemed to think about him?

“Hmm,” Davos leaned back in his chair. “Sansa, if I may make an observation. I hear you say things like ‘always’ and ‘non-stop’ and with that kind of language, I can’t help but wonder if you feel as though Petyr’s desire for acceptance has been an ongoing issue?” 

“This isn’t all me,” Petyr interrupted Davos’ analysis, feeling attacked. Reaching for whatever he could to preserve his image, Petyr used Davos’ words against him, and her. “If  _ my wife _ wasn’t so dependent, she wouldn’t care that I apparently let her down  _ one time _ out of the many in which I met her approval over the years.”

“Dependent? Excuse me? I’ve proven time and time again just how little I actually need you. I’m completely independent of you.” Sansa glared. 

Petyr laughed, “You’re the most dependent ‘ _ independent woman _ ’ I’ve ever met!” 

Sansa’s eyes darted over him, as her lips pursed. She was clearly searching her memory bank for some tidbit of knowledge to weaponize and strike him with. “Says the man with mommy issues.”

Petyr swallowed, his jaw tightening. Was she really going to use his absent crack-addicted mother against him? 

Her voice turned mocking as she mimicked him, “Oh pretty please Sansa take care of me!” 

She could have been referring to any one of the many times he looked to her for all the nurturing he needed in life, but for some reason the memory of his fortieth birthday and the vulnerability he felt at the time came to mind first. She’d been so comforting then, entirely loving. The contrast to how she was now was startling. He’d never have believed their relationship would take this turn. 

Davos cleared his throat, “I think it’s important that we stay focused on--”

“And Sansa doesn’t have any mommy issues at all! She’s so perfect. That’s why she has such a screwed up relationship with her friend Cersei!” Petyr lashed out. 

Sansa pursed her lips and glared at him, hot waves of hatred radiating off of her. 

“What? Nothing to say?” Petyr taunted. “Maybe I don’t need to bring up the daddy issues then.” 

“Daddy issues?!” Sansa blurted, her jaw dropping. 

Petyr replied with the same mocking tone she used, “I want a man to be proud of how grown up and independent I am! But I also want one that takes care of me completely and makes it so I never have to think about anything difficult like business.”

Sansa’s fingers dug into the arms of the chair as she seethed. Petyr’s face twisted into a triumphant grin when she slowly turned her head to Davos and barked, “Aren’t you supposed to be facilitating our communication?” 

Davos shrugged, “Judging by things, this is the most communicating you two have done in a long time. I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Petyr bit back a chuckle at that, and glanced back to Sansa. She crossed her arms refusing to look at him. Davos coughed in his hand and then adjusted his collar as he said, “I wouldn’t normally say this, but perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that you two became intimate. It appears to have given things a little push along, at the very least.” 

“Hear that?” Petyr laughed to Sansa and then licked his lips, “I’m game for another go if you are.” 

Sansa ejected herself from her seat, glowering at him as she strode across the room. He didn’t think she would stop once she reached the door but she did. “This is all just a joke to you, but it isn’t to me. It’s my family, my life that you’re carelessly messing with! What is this, some kind of sick sport?” Her cheeks reddened and her voice caught as she said, “I don’t put myself through coming here just to be humiliated for your pleasure.”

Petyr felt the smile drop from his face. It wasn’t a game to him either, yet he’d played it as if was. Fuck. He watched her reach up and wipe a tear from one eye, promising, “I’m going to hurt you for this.”

The door closed and she was gone before he could say anything. In that moment, hearing her utter the same thing he’d been thinking and feeling all along, he never felt so close to her. Her promise to hurt him was so sincere that he knew this feeling of connectedness wouldn’t last. She’d see to that. And the strange thing was, that he was starting to understand her side of things just a little bit more now. 

Davos frowned at him and Petyr waved him off. “It’s fine. She can’t screw around on me. She should be on her period for another couple days, though she’s hard to track with the breastfeeding. She’ll calm down before it’s passed.” He wasn’t sure if he said that more for Davos’ benefit or his own.

“It’s interesting that an extramarital affair is the first place your mind went when she said she would hurt you,” Davos commented. “I’d say that it’s interesting as well that you’re still tracking her cycles even though you are separated, but it doesn’t really surprise me.” 

“I’m an attentive husband who knows his wife’s body, and there isn’t a man on the planet that doesn’t worry whether his woman will be plundered by another whenever there’s trouble at home,” Petyr rationalized. 

Davos rubbed his chin as he nodded his agreement. “Though, you probably more than most.” 

“Probably,” Petyr resigned. “And no, I don’t want to examine that today.” 

“Good, cause that would require a whole session, start to finish.” Davos smiled. “And, I think it’s more important that you spend your time considering your responses to Sansa.” 

“Considering my responses?” 

“Many times in that conversation, I could see you were faced with a decision. Each time you opted for the less effective choice. Why is that?” Davos’ lips thinned as he explained, “You know just what buttons to push on Sansa and even though you know how unproductive it is to push them, you still do. Almost compulsively, as if unable to stop yourself.”

“Did you think that perhaps it’s because she’s pressing my buttons as well?” Petyr asked, unwilling to take all the criticism. 

Davos tapped his watch and slowly rose from his seat. “Oh yes, Petyr. It’s quite clear that she’s pressing your buttons. The difference is that she’s _ reacting _ . She’s not thinking rationally. Instead, she’s going completely off of emotion. You, on the other hand, while your emotions do take control, you still know that verbal barbs and witty comebacks aren’t helpful. There may be a lot to this that you don’t understand, but in regards to your communication, you have an awareness that she lacks. Yet for some reason, you choose to ignore it. In favor of what? A longer separation? Uglier break? Cause that’s all that can come of that kind of behavior.”

Petyr stood up and straightened his blazer. “What would you suggest?”

Davos walked him towards the door. “Resist the urge to spar with her. Communicate-- _ negotiate  _ a treaty. Help her understand the things she doesn’t, so that she can help you understand the things that you don’t.” He held the door open and finished with, “And schedule another appointment once the dust settles a bit.” 

Petyr eyed him doubtfully. Had the man not just seen Sansa in action? Dust didn’t settle in her presence. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional thanks to GreedIsGreen and ShadowedScribblings for looking over various bits and pieces.


	12. Friends with Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And you want to feel me? Forget about your love for a while?

The constant roaring thrum of music made it impossible for Petyr to hear anything else, especially not the tiny voice of reason in his head that told him there was no need to murder. He had a strong urge to pull his gun out and fire it in the crowded club, piercing the skull of the man that dared to put his arms around Sansa. The piece he wore under his arm felt bulky, reminding him of his easy access to it. Sansa promised she would hurt him when he saw her last and he had always known to her to be good to her word. Driving him to lunacy had to have been her method because it's what she’d been doing.

It shouldn’t have been surprising to find her cozying up to another; even when things were good, she played games with Petyr. He’d grown accustomed to her attention-seeking behavior and even began to live for it. The hopeful part of him clung to the possibility that she’d set this up for him to swoop in and claim her. Perhaps she wanted to find some normalcy again? He told himself not to get too excited over a lot of maybes. The cold hard facts were that Sansa left him, deemed their sex a mistake, and then vowed to punish him further still. Her smiling on the dance floor was purposeful, and likely not an attempt at reconciliation.

Petyr kept a hand in his pocket, gripping its contents as he sipped his drink, watching Sansa shimmy around her _date._ Her dress left little to the imagination, and even less with each movement. Backless, low cut and high to rise, it was as if the two ends tried to meet in the middle, leaving her completely exposed. Though, he figured that was the point. She was screaming for attention, and the dress definitely helped. The material even had a shine to it that matched the glossy glitter she’d done her make up with. He’d caught many glimpses each time she flashed him a glance to ensure he was sufficiently leering. The overall look was slutty, made to tease and tempt, and Petyr thought she couldn’t have been more stunning.

The arm she hung off of was just a prop she used in her play. The man attached to it was just a toy, he couldn’t mean anything to her. That didn’t stop Petyr from gritting his teeth, however, when he saw one olive complexioned hand find her hip, guiding her to the club beat. Another sip of his drink and a deep inhale, let Petyr calm enough to suppose he was meant to feel jealous. Best case scenario, Sansa was just playing one of her games. Worse case, Petyr had a leash on the man, and he was happy to yank it and deny whatever her intentions were.

When Varys told him that Sansa had called to switch one of her nights with the kids, Petyr naturally wondered why. She made no effort to hide that she had a date, and he knew instantly that she was laying a trap for him. He just didn’t know the extent of it, at the time. Still didn’t.

At first, Oberyn hadn’t crossed Petyr’s mind. For someone who was supposed to be quite the Casanova, he hadn’t exactly been getting anywhere far with her. Petyr actually started to wonder what pathetic lamb she would be leading to slaughter in his stead. If it wasn’t Oberyn, surely it was someone who could be killed without consequence.

Petyr downed his drink desperately, burning his throat and heating his chest. He couldn’t quiet the thought that perhaps he wasn’t meant to take out the competition this time, but instead sit there watching and wanting. Sansa did say that she would draw blood over their last encounter, and her bringing Oberyn of all people into this, only increased that possibility. As the man put it, _he was not so easily killed._

If Petyr could get away with bashing her date’s brains in, then perhaps there was a part of her deep down that wanted it to be a game, not retaliation. He prayed there was, shaken at the very real chance that she wouldn’t leave with him at the end of the night. It was a good thing he’d planned for that.

After he learned about her date, Petyr took a shower, soaping his balls thoroughly as he fantasized about taking her wherever he could: a back seat, back room, bathroom. He would kiss her from head to toe, promising that their feelings for each other was enough to survive anything as he fucked her over the crumpled up dead body of whatever idiot she chose.

He had been standing in his towel, preening in front of the mirror as he imagined the bliss of falling back into their familiar habits. He so wanted to believe that twenty-four hours had been enough to calm her. Wasn’t it always the hottest fires that died down the quickest? His prayers were left unanswered when he glanced down at his phone on the counter, reading, _Your wife called me._

Petyr’s lips pursed when he saw that it was Oberyn. Of course it was. All the excitement and possibility left Petyr as he felt the weight of a Martell settle on his shoulders. _Did you record the call?_ He typed back.

He had instructed him to do so any time Sansa made contact, needing to hear her voice, and the exact words she used whenever she spoke. It was the only way Petyr could properly analyze her. He told Oberyn and Varys that it was for business purposes, needing to know her next move, but he suspected neither man believed him much. Oh well. Their opinion didn’t matter, only that they did as they were told.

The reply read, _Of course._ Petyr tapped to download and play the audio clip that quickly followed Oberyn’s response.

“ _Sansa? To what do I owe the honor of your call?_ ” Oberyn sounded a little suspicious. He was smart to be.

There was a smile in her voice that Petyr seriously questioned as she answered, “ _I_ _’_ _ve decided to take you up on your offer. If it still stands?_ ”

Offer? What offer?

“ _Of course, but I would be remiss not to inquire as to your current status with Baelish,_ ” Oberyn replied. He was smart to check. Oberyn was a flirt, and with anyone else, he could follow through without a second thought. He also knew enough to know the dangers that lay ahead should he wander down that particular path, with this particular woman.

Sansa laughed, baiting him, “ _You_ _’_ _re not scared of Petyr are you?_ ”

There was a pause before Oberyn replied thoughtfully, “ _I don_ _’_ _t make it a point to be afraid of friends._ ”

Another soft chuckle came from Sansa as she pointed out, “ _You seem to consider a lot of people friends._ ”

“ _And what does that tell you?_ ” Oberyn’s voice was teasing on a surface level, but Petyr could detect an underlying threat he wasn’t very fond of. The man had every right to feel powerful, having spent years building his little drug empire in Braavos. That didn’t mean, however, that Petyr appreciated such self-assurance in his city, especially around _his_ wife.

Sansa seemed to be of like mind because she responded, “ _I think you want it to tell me that you are fearless._ ” She smiled into the phone as she continued, “ _But, I think you may just be foolish._ ”

“ _Foolish?_ ” Oberyn sounded insulted. “ _And yet you are the one calling me, with a husband unwilling to let you go._ ”

Petyr chuckled. Insulting Sansa was a bad move. She never took kindly to that; being belittled simply didn’t do it for her. He was sure she was about to rear up and unleash quite the verbal assault, when instead, she blew out a long sigh. She sounded truly exhausted as she ignored Oberyn’s words. “ _Have you ever loved someone, but knew you couldn_ _’_ _t be with them?_ _”_

“ _No. I have my Ellaria,_ ” Oberyn responded quickly.

Petyr froze, listening to her words intently. “ _Cherish her. Petyr and I can't be in the same room anymore without tearing each other down. I_ _’_ _m not sure we even like each other anymore._ ”

 _Like_ each other? Who said anything about like? They were well beyond like.

“ _I find that hard to believe,_ ” Oberyn replied.

It was as if she were talking to herself, ignoring Oberyn completely. _“_ _It_ _’_ _s like everything we had seems so null-and-void all of a sudden and we_ _’_ _ve just become these two people who share kids._ _”_

 _“_ _There must more feeling there than that? You're both such passionate creatures for each other,_ _”_ Oberyn asked what Petyr wanted to.

Sansa scoffed, _“_ _There_ _’_ _s so much feeling that its overwhelming, to the point where it_ _’_ _s like there_ _’_ _s no feeling at all. Not until we hurt each other, anyway. We feel things then._ _”_

 _“_ _So, are you taking me up on my offer, simply to hurt him?_ _”_ Oberyn asked. Petyr knew that he tasked the man with seducing his wife, but found some odd sense of relief in the way he challenged her time and time again. He also hated how easily she was talking to him about their marriage.

There was silence for a moment before Sansa quietly admitted, _“_ _To feel._ _”_

Petyr closed his eyes to the pain that threatened to pour out. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel Oberyn. What did that man know about Sansa? Nothing. He didn’t know how she took her coffee, what side of the bed she preferred, or her favorite brand of purse. He knew nothing about her and the insinuation that he might be capable of getting her to feel anything was insulting.

She was right when she said that they felt things more when they were hurting each other. And just what about it? They loved each other. Enough to be mean. Their mutual devotion knew no bounds, not even pain. One would willingly hurt the other to the point of incapacitation if it meant it would keep them from leaving. Every awful barb she sent his way only proved her love for him more. Each thing they threw in each other’s face, was only meant to stun and stop them, keep them from walking away. The issue was getting her to see that. Their marriage wasn’t a fairytale romance, or even a healthy one as Davos pointed out. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t real and important.

He knew that Oberyn was simply doing his job, but that didn’t make it hurt any less when he heard the man finally use his opening, “ _And you want to feel me? Forget about your love for a while?_ ”

Her words pierced his heart when she spoke simply, “ _Everyone deserves happiness._ ” She’d been happy with him; seven years didn’t lie. “ _It_ _’_ _s just dancing,_ ” she insisted. Petyr wondered if it really was as he listened to her finish, “ _And, you don_ _’_ _t seem the type to mind either way._ ”

There was a brief pause and then Oberyn flirted back, “Y _ou called me foolish before, though I would truly be so, if I declined an invitation to dance from a beauty like you. I would welcome you on my arm._ ”

That son of a bitch.

Petyr threw his phone against the warm desert khaki colored backsplash tile and immediately regretted it. He heaved a sigh and brought the blade of his razor back to his cheek as he replayed their conversation, obsessing over what he had heard.

Oberyn would be a challenge, he’d give Sansa that. The man had brought Serum into the city and had deals with everyone. His death would not be easily overlooked, and the Lannisters were already about to snap whatever tether civility kept them on. Again, the thought struck and stuck, that perhaps Sansa chose Oberyn not for a challenge, but because she didn’t want Petyr to succeed. She did say she deserved happiness, and she clearly wasn’t getting it from him.

Blood tinged the sink at the distracted stroke, and Petyr glanced up to see he’d nicked himself. He cursed and wiped it once before he sterilized it with his aftershave, clenching his jaw at the sting. He reached forward and swiped his finger over the cracked screen of his phone to type, _Where?_

Within seconds, Oberyn replied, _Starfall._

That made sense. Petyr took some comfort in that, however small.

It was Sansa’s favorite place to dance, and while it wasn’t a Baelish establishment like The Mockingbird or Unveiled, it was theirs all the same. It was property inherited from the Tyrells, and consequently, one that had not been handed off to Greyscale. Jaime and Petyr had given up industrial properties for the most part, except for the bars that held sentimental value to them. While Petyr had many fond memories in Starfall, particularly in its Rose Room, he would give it up easily compared to an establishment of his own making.

So there he was, standing across a crowded dance floor, watching long copper locks whip around with each spin and dip Oberyn lead. She grinned and squealed with excitement each time the man made a move that took her by surprise. Even though Petyr couldn’t actually hear her, seeing her expressions evoked the memory of her sounds to pair the visual with. She was so far away and yet she felt so near. It was torture to see her so happy with anyone but himself. Only the knowledge that she continued to glance his way, calmed him.

He repeated her words, _it_ _’_ _s just dancing_ , over and over in his head. He knew that it would be because Petyr had control over Oberyn. He was quick to instruct that dancing was all he’d allow with the redheaded temptress that held Petyr’s heart in her hand.

Oberyn agreed easily, saying, “ _But of course_.” He then added that such restraint was worthy of reward, however.

Petyr, knowing the game, released another little tidbit of information for the man. It was easy to tell the man that word was, the enforcer sent to murder his sister was connected to two different families. The names hadn’t been given, but Varys was on it. There was a sincerity to Oberyn’s voice as he considered the latest clue and thanked Petyr for the additional information, assuring him again that he would only take Sansa dancing, nothing more.

That should have been enough, but it wasn’t. He knew Oberyn’s dick wouldn’t be exploring his wife’s insides, but that didn’t detract from the possibility that she may have wanted it to. Petyr wasn’t heartless; her desires mattered to him. If she truly wanted Oberyn inside her, Petyr wouldn’t be able to steel himself to it.

Varys once said that Sansa teased and toyed but never let things go too far, never actually wanted to fuck the men she brought before him in the midst of one of her moments. Their last counseling session, however, had left him scared that she’d change the game. Petyr grimaced, thinking he’d have to remember to send Davos a nice fruit basket for Christmas, whether or not they were still seeing him.

While he didn’t agree with everything Davos said, some things did hit home. He hadn’t ever told Sansa that he wanted to win her, simply taking for granted that they would find their way together. His faith in them was so blind that he couldn’t see the actions he needed to take to ensure their reunion. He’d been waiting for her to come back and snipping at her when she didn’t. Was she innocent? Definitely not. She’d bitten back, and it wasn’t helping either of them. He needed to break this cycle, and apologize, even if he didn’t understand why. She needed it and he wanted to give it to her.

The upbeat music slowed, more bass pumped to emphasize every few notes. Couples plastered their bodies together, grinding on each other’s legs, faces buried into necks as hands wandered. Petyr waited for Sansa and Oberyn to leave the dance floor, and when they didn’t, he popped another mint and ordered another drink. She’d made her point; no need to continue such a display.

The alcohol he let sit on his tongue would have scorched his taste buds if it had been his first. It was far from. He’d been growing quite the tolerance since Sansa left him, though kept that fact mostly to himself, except for Varys who noticed everything. His tongue was numb to the burn, and he wished his heart was as he watched Sansa lean back against Oberyn. Her head rest on his shoulder while his hand found her stomach. Petyr told himself that it was excusable, all over-the-clothes. He chomped down on his mint, watching her grind back into Oberyn, smiling against his cheek as he glanced down her dress.

Varys texted, _They_ _’_ _re just dancing._

Petyr ran his thumb over the shattered screen of his phone to reply, _What are you doing here?_

 _I_ _’_ _m here in case you have need of me_ , Varys’ response was fast.

Petyr stared ahead at Sansa’s easy smile and heavy lidded eyes. He hated how comfortable she looked, swaying hypnotically with the music, never missing the beat, not even when she spotted him. Her lips curled into an even wider grin, completely made of mischief and meant only for him as she drove herself back against Oberyn even more. Petyr’s pants tightened shamefully at the sight, against his will, and entirely at hers.

 _She_ _’_ _s just trying to rile you_ , Petyr’s phone buzzed again.

Lacking reserve, Petyr typed, _Go away._

A couple of seconds passed as he watched Sansa’s arm raise over her head to hook around Oberyn’s neck. Petyr imagined Brune breaking that same neck as his hand slid down her ribcage and settled on her hip. Petyr’s phone vibrated with Varys’ icon again and he tore his eyes away to read, _Have you ever told her you love her?_

Petyr swallowed the rest of his drink, and answered, _It_ _’_ _s not our thing_.

It wasn’t. In the seven years they’d been together, he couldn’t remember a single time that he’d told her that he loved her, or vice versa. It just wasn’t something they said. It was assumed; it was _known_. The word alone just seemed like such an understatement to how they felt about one another.

 _You might want to consider making it your thing_ , Varys replied.

Petyr leveled him with a warning glare and then raised his empty glass. If Varys was going to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, Petyr would repay him with bitch work. He sounded too much like Davos, though perhaps that made sense, both men were on his payroll and apparently enjoyed taking the piss out of him.

His gaze returned to Sansa, sparkling under the under the lights in front of him. She encouraged Oberyn’s hold of her, resting her hand over his on her stomach. Her steady smile boasted a familiarity between the two of them that made Petyr’s jaw clench.

Just when he felt he couldn’t take it anymore, she peeled herself off of Oberyn and whispered in his ear. Petyr would cut off his left arm to know what she told him. Judging by the smile Oberyn gave, it wasn’t a brush off, yet he lifted her hand to his lips, giving her a peck of a kiss as she turned from him. She strode across the dance floor, her eyes finding Petyr’s as she moved. Her dimples flared, promising him something—what, he didn’t know.

 _Bathroom_ , Oberyn messaged him. He knew he was being watched and clearly thought he’d upheld his end of the bargain. The night was still young, and Petyr was far from done with Oberyn; they had an agreement. His phone buzzed again, _Do you still want to do this?_

Petyr saw a fresh drink come into his periphery and he accepted it from some nervous nobody that Varys had sent over. He accepted it and glared at Oberyn as he typed back, _I_ _’_ _ll give you the word if and when I want you to._ He hated being questioned.

Unable to hold his gaze long, Petyr’s feet forced him to follow in Sansa’s direction, another maneuver not entirely of his own volition. He gave a sick chuckle and wondered if he was walking to his death. Large men loyal to Sansa could have been in the bathroom, waiting to gank him for upsetting their queen. Wouldn’t that have just been the way to go? Killed by his own wife’s command. Would it be one of the capricious Karstarks? Perhaps an untrustworthy Umber? Money was on a mindless Manderly. Sansa seemed to lean on them more than the others, and he noticed a few stationed at the exits. At least she was taking some precautions for her outing.

Brune was already at the bathroom, as if he’d read Petyr’s mind, standing on guard. The sell-sergeant never dared assume anything, however, which lead Petyr to glance back at Varys, who nodded and raised his martini. Was that a touch of smug radiating off the bald man? Petyr appreciated his thoroughness, but could do without the pride he took in it. He knew it was all in an effort to make up for his colossal fuck up with Jorah and Dany. To give the bald man credit, not all of his competent moves could be attributed to an attack of conscience. Most times, he was just very good at his job.

Petyr’s palms started to sweat as he reached for the door handle, his nerves getting the best of him. He was anxious to see her, _confront_ her, and yet a little scared to. Would she smile and tell him that she had every intention of putting out at the end of her date with Oberyn? How painful that would be to hear.

He eyed his steadfast bodyguard and bit the inside of his cheek. Sansa was in there, alone—probably. He couldn’t let fear of what he might encounter stop him from seeing her. Before he could change his mind, he yanked the door open and propelled himself forward.

He scanned the bathroom, looking for any possible threat before letting his eyes settle on the river of red by the sink. She was wetting some paper towels under the faucet, ringing them out and patting her throat with them as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’ve been working up quite a sweat dancing.” Then she giggled, “It’s gotten me all hot and bothered.”

Petyr popped a mint in his mouth, and cracked it between his teeth as his eyes followed her hand, dragging the damp paper towel down her chest. “I noticed.”

She chuckled and before she could respond, Petyr asked, “Are you disappointed it’s me and not your date?”

“I wouldn’t have been eyeball-fucking you across the floor all this time if I wanted him to follow me in here.” Sansa lurched forward a step to toss the paper towel in the trash can, her gait a little off kilter.

Petyr fought the urge to catch her. “How high are you?”

Sansa’s voice was sing-song as she answered, “High enough for some things, but not enough for others.”

Davos warned him not to banter, not to take the bait. He just couldn’t avoid the opening he saw, and asked with an edge in his voice, “High enough to fuck Oberyn?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Sansa shrugged.

Petyr blinked, stunned. That she would even consider sex with anyone but him was distressing. He had always known she found Oberyn attractive, but thought it ended there. There was a difference between appreciating someone’s physical attributes and picturing yourself actually fucking them. Somewhere along the way, Sansa had apparently crossed over from admiration to consideration.

Any hope he had that she’d just said it to bruise his ego was dashed when he looked up to see her smile fading. Only true honesty could steal all the mirth from a person. Neither of them spoke as they both recognized the hurt in each other’s eyes. He exhaled as he said, “But you haven’t?” It was more of a question than he had meant for it to be.

Sansa shook her head and looked away. Her smile was forced and faint.

That should have given him some sort of comfort, but it didn’t. Petyr swallowed the pain in his throat as he tried unsuccessfully to stop himself from asking further, “Do you want to?”

Sansa remained silent, not answering. He wanted her to say no so badly that it clouded everything. He needed to focus, clear his mind and take her in. He had always prided himself in knowing Sansa better than anyone. What did it usually mean when she didn’t answer? She didn’t want to get caught.

He gambled, “I think you want to fuck _someone_ , but not particularly him.”

Sansa teased, “Anyone will do?”

“A body is just a body when your mind is somewhere else,” Petyr explained, holding himself to avoid reaching for her. They both knew quite well what it was like to go through the motions of physical intimacy, all the while keeping themselves entirely isolated. It was all they knew before each other.

“And where would my mind be?”

It took all the courage he had to say, “With me.”

Sansa looked down at the counter. “Maybe,” she didn’t disagree. Then she looked up and said, “Maybe old habits die hard.”

Petyr smirked. “I’m an old habit now, am I?”

“It takes thirty days to break a habit, what are we at now?” Sansa taunted. “Twenty?”

His lips pursed, “Nineteen, and you know it.”

Sansa waved her hand dismissively. “Oh right. Sorry. Time flies, and all that.”

Petyr stepped forward, his voice tight as he asked, “Why him? Of all people why did you come here tonight with him?”

“Jealous?” She leaned back, gripping the counter behind her.

He closed in on her and planted a hand on either side of hers. “Yes.”

Inches from his face, Sansa smiled, “I wanted your attention.”

“No.” Petyr stared into the icicle eyes in front of him. He pulled upon a confession he was fond of when he insisted, “You wanted to abuse me.”

She lifted a hand to his chest, neither pushing away, or pulling him close. Her smile told him that she’d retrieved the shared memory too. “Isn’t that what you like? When I’m cruel?”

Petyr closed his eyes and focused on the heat of her palm covering his heart. He didn’t have an answer for her, too focused on the feel. She never initiated touch anymore; this was special. Her voice was soft in his ear as she said, “Or do you prefer it when I’m all sweet and candy kisses?”

He blinked the blur of emotions away as he realized he preferred both—all. “Why did you want my attention?”

Sansa made a pouty face and let her thumb rub back and forth. Did she know she was rubbing the scar through his shirt? He thought she must. “I didn’t like how things ended in our last session.”

“You don’t say?” His brows furrowed in frustration. “Now that you mention it, I did get that impression when you stormed out and vowed vengeance.”

She let go of his chest to look down at the space between them, and he instantly regretted saying it. Her voice was soft as she said, “Yes. Not my finest moment.” Then she reached for her necklace, twirling the pendant in her fingers. It was the blue diamond that he’d given her on the day Elenei was born, and it pleased him to see her wear a gift from him. She tilted her head and added, “Not your finest either.”

He released the counter and heaved a sigh. “No. It wasn’t.”

“I think it’s important for us to put all the pettiness behind us,” Sansa spoke suddenly so nonchalantly, as if they were in the grocery store together, trying to decide the benefits of one yogurt over the other.

He couldn’t help himself, allowing a sick laugh to escape as he said, “Seriously? You’re on a date with someone else, right now.”

“That’s not the point,” she answered simply. “And besides, you know I like to dance.”

He was about to blast her for that shoddy dismissal when he thought of what Davos said. He needed to control the impulse to attack. He took a deep breath and said, “I want us to get along too.” More than get along.

“Good. I’m so glad we can be friends,” she smiled.

“ _Friends?_ ” Petyr gaped at her. The word felt nothing short of offensive.

She nodded, “Friendship is important. Especially for people like us.” Before he could process that, she placed her hand back on his chest as she added, “I think we can be _very good_ friends, Petyr.”

Petyr pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring. She was kidding, right? She had to be. After everything they shared, to be relegated to 'friend'--no matter how good of one, was such an insult.

“Oh no!” Sansa exclaimed, suddenly looking truly distraught.

Petyr turned his head quickly, searching her face for the issue. “What’s wrong?” 

Sansa bit her lip and brought her finger to his jaw. “You nicked yourself.”

He blinked back at her. A tiny cut from shaving far from warranted such attention. He could feel her breath hot against his lips as she whispered, “Poor baby.”

“Mm,” he groaned. Fuck, what were they talking about?

He watched her wet her lips before she asked, “Want me to kiss it better?”

The pressure in his pants grew and begged him to say yes. His palms itched to hold her, grab up as much as he could. Her eyelashes tickled his cheek as she nuzzled into his face.

It took that small act of intimacy to rouse him from his fantasy. What was she playing at? Every step of the way she’d shunned his advances, and then all of a sudden she was calling him a friend and fawning all over him. Something was off. It took every last ounce of reserve he had, but he managed to say, “I wouldn’t want you to _mother_ me.”

“Aww, you’re upset,” Sansa snickered. “I told you counseling wasn’t for us.”

Petyr turned his head away, refusing to answer. He wasn’t a fan of counseling either, finding all the revelations a bit unnerving, but there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep her. After all this time, did she really not see that? She could criticize the concept of counseling all she wanted, but it still stung to see her mock his efforts. Wasn’t that what women wanted? A man who fought for them?

Blissfully ignorant of his internal struggle, Sansa kissed his cheek, and then hooked her finger on the other side of his jaw. He closed his eyes, feeling the burn of her lips linger as he allowed her to turn his head. Her breathy voice tickled his ears and sent a shiver down his back. “You like it when I kiss your boo-boos.”

How true that was. He inhaled as he felt the warmth of her mouth hover over his abraded flesh. A light kiss pressed against the tender tissue and though it would have normally hurt more because of it, the resulting throb below his belt was decidedly more painful.

Suddenly all the warmth was gone as she pulled back, “There. All better.” Petyr opened his eyes reluctantly, not wanting the moment to end. Her smile was modest as she teased, “I like to be a good friend.”

There was that word again. It was a thorn in his side, and it didn’t lessen when she moved her palm back to his heart and asked, “Should I kiss this all better too?”

Petyr felt his chest rise and fall against the warmth of her hand. Could she feel his heart racing? Did she like it? Sansa batted her eyelashes at him and took a deep breath that heaved the tops of her breasts into his periphery. He fought the urge to look down and leer, and was about to protest when she lean back into him, whispering in his ear, “I’ll kiss yours better, if you kiss mine.”

Irritation flared in him and he began to rear his head back to glare at her when she caught his earlobe. She lessened her tight hold when he stopped trying to move away, only to drag her teeth over his ear, grazing the flesh before she finally let go. She may have released him from her mouth, but she was far from done with him, dipping her head to press a kiss over his heart. She let her lips linger as she did and before he knew what he was doing, Petyr’s hand came up and caught the back of her head, threading his fingers in her hair to lock her in place.

He wasn’t sure how long she’d allow him to hold her, but he would take what he could get away with. There was so much he wanted to say to her and yet still so much he wasn’t sure about. Rickon told him to apologize, Davos told him to win her, and Varys told him to profess his love to her. Stuck, not knowing which direction to turn, Petyr held her there and closed his eyes, fighting the frustrated tear that threatened to escape.

Sansa finally pushed back against his hold, gently indicating that she was done. Petyr forced each knuckle free, making himself release her. When she leaned back, she smiled up at him, her eyes glittering under the fluorescent lights as she ran a hand over the exposed flesh of her heart. “Will you kiss it better?”

Petyr eyed her, looking for the trap. When he couldn’t determine it, he gave in to the temptation and lowered his head. He paused to inhale her scent: sweat, perfume, and beneath all that there was a layer that was entirely Sansa. He let his lips gently rest against her flesh, taking pleasure in the rapid beat of her heart. It encouraging to know she was affected too. He knew he should have given the requested kiss and let that be the end of it, but just as she’d lingered, so did he. The longer he stayed, the less he could fight the desire to take just a little more than what was offered. His tongue flicked out to lick the salt and caustic perfume chemical off her skin.

When he pulled away, she chuckled, “See? We can be such good friends to each other.”

There was that fucking word again. How many times would she beat him senseless with such a demoted status? What did she think she was accomplishing by saying it? Whatever clear cut line she was trying to draw between them, she smudged the moment she left her lipstick print on his shirt.

Sansa touched her finger to the wet spot his tongue left and laughed, “Couldn’t resist could you?”

He truly couldn’t. Rather than admit that though, Petyr just watched her.

She retaliated against his silence by making it a point to look down at his erection. The pleasure she took from his obvious weakness bit as she said, “Looks like you’re interested in being my friend too.”

“Stop saying that,” Petyr scowled.

“That’s what we are, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for his response, but instead whipped around to face the mirror. “Unless you’re saying you want a little more. In which case, I don’t mind offering a _very good friend_ some benefits.”

“Benefits?”

Sansa started rifling through her purse, not looking up at him as she explained, “Well, we had a good seven years, so it’s only right we give each other a little extra in our friendship. And besides, it shouldn’t be much different from any other empty, meaningless fucking I’ve put up with in my life.”

Did she just equate him to men from her past? Petyr eyed her skeptically, praying he misinterpreted. “What are you saying, Sansa?”

Ignoring him, she pulled two different lipsticks from her purse and asked, “Which do you prefer?”

He didn’t have to think about it, having seen her wear both many times. His pointed to the one on the left and couldn’t help his mind from wandering to the last time he’d seen a ring of the same color around his cock.

She smiled, “Thanks! I want to make sure I look good for my date.”

His eye twitched over the knowledge that she’d had him pick out the lipstick he preferred so she could use it on another man. “You’re joking, right?”

She feigned ignorance as she looked back at him, “No. I value the opinion of a good friend such as yourself and I think it’s important to look your best on a date.”

“What are you telling me?” Petyr questioned, fast feeling as though he didn’t really know her as much as he thought he had. 

Sansa pulled the cap from her chosen lipstick and twisted it open. “Just that I’m here with Oberyn tonight and you’re just a friend who happened to show up.”

It was a punch to the gut. She’d just been kissing him, asking him to kiss her, and yet here she was, telling him she didn’t want him. Again. He felt like he would get whiplash by how carelessly she batted him back and forth. He stared at the lipstick kiss on his shirt in the mirror and wished he could tear it off, hating how yanked around he allowed himself to be.

Seeming to sense his growing hostility she added, “With some benefits sprinkled in whenever we’re both horny enough, of course.”

Her words left a sour taste in his mouth as he replied incredulously, “A fuck-buddy?”

Sansa said nothing as she applied her lipstick and he was struck with the profound urge to shake her. She couldn’t possibly mean that. “You seriously mean _fuck-buddy?_ ”

“Does the prospect appeal?” She stared back at him through the mirror as she twisted her lipstick down and capped it.

She was serious. He felt as gutted as he had the day the tickler eviscerated him. She was the only woman he felt anything past an erection for. Sex prior to her was a means to an end, professional advancement or pressure relief. It wasn’t until he came to know her that he felt sex would mean more with Sansa Stark--now _still_ very much Baelish despite all her attempts otherwise.

He clung to straws, “You said our sex was a mistake.”

“Having feelings was the mistake,” Sansa corrected.

“The fuck it was,” Petyr countered, feeling his fists clench.

Sansa tossed her lipstick back in her bag as she admitted, “That day in your office, it felt good to hold you inside me.” He smiled, and she shook her head. “That was until I realized what it meant.”

“That we were reconnecting--”

He was cut off by her sick laugh. “No. Far from.” She shook her head as if he was the dumbest creature she’d ever encountered. “It meant that I wanted to feel you against me, and you wanted to own me.”

“What’s the difference?” Petyr asked, having known her to appreciate his possessiveness over the years as a sign of affection.

She reached back in her bag and shook her head. “You never learn, do you? I’m not yours anymore. I may not mind fucking you, but that doesn’t mean I actually want you.”

“ _Not mind_ fucking me?” He parroted her words back to her. She more than not minded, she goddamned fucking  _wanted_! They had a good thing going. Sure, he criticized her for her dependency, but it was something he actually desired in her. It was frustrating how often he felt the need to bury himself in her and pray she’d tend to all of his needs. The only time he felt remotely equal to her was when she allowed him to dominate and possess her. She liked it. He knew she did. Why would she say she didn’t?

“Just as you said, Petyr: a body is a body.”

There was a hardness to her that he couldn’t decipher, and he hated her all the more for it. He noted the dilation in her eyes as he asked, “What did you take?”

“Would it matter?”

Depending on the drug, yes. He didn’t answer though as he stared back at her, expectantly.

Sansa straightened. “Serum. Oberyn gave it to me after we dropped off the kids. Elenei likes _Mummy_ _’_ _s new friend._ ”

Only the sound of the club’s dull base beat sounded in the room as Petyr eyed her, his insides churning. She’d introduced Oberyn to the kids? Called him Mummy’s new friend. Was this how things were really going to go now? Sansa dating and introducing men indiscriminately to their children without any regard to his place in their lives.

Petyr breathed in, telling himself not to think about it. He simply couldn’t allow his mind to wander there, to a world where Mummy and Daddy had girlfriends and boyfriends. Sansa was just being cruel, and he knew it. None of her other punches seemed to land to her satisfaction, so she threw this at him. It was desperate and only further demonstrated how hard she had to work to hate him.

He focused on the vindictive beauty before him and considered that she’d taken a drug designed to increase her libido. She’d only ever allowed herself to be so out of control of herself with him before. Yet here she was, with another man, accepting a substance that would diminish her capacity to manage her urges. What the fuck was Oberyn thinking? How dare he give his wife Serum before he took her for a turn on the dance floor? Would Sansa have been so _friendly_ with Oberyn without the chemical assistance? Finally, Petyr found his voice to ask, “For Oberyn?”

Sansa pulled her eyeliner from her bag, suddenly too busy to respond. Petyr refused to accept her silence, pushing her harder as he asked, “Hmm? Sansa?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before he drove his nose into the back of her head, sniffing audibly. Her shampoo, perfume, sweat, and the scratchy scent of smoke filled his nostrils as he asked, “Did you take it to tease me and fuck him? Or is it the other way around?”

If her libido was raging, it would benefit only him, he’d make damn sure of that. His hand slid over her belly as Oberyn had on the dance floor. Her eyes closed as he held her there. “Did you like dancing with your date?” He swayed a little, taking her with him, their feet never lifting off the ground. “How he held you?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and he stilled, not knowing if she was enthusiastic about his embrace, or if she was admitting to something he didn’t want to know and shouldn’t have asked.

When he stalled, she was suddenly broken of the spell she’d been falling under. She opened her eyes and confessed, “I liked watching you.”

“I bet you did,” he growled.

Her amusement was cut short when he tilted his pelvis forward and rubbed against her ass, “Did you get wet when you were grinding against _his_ cock?”

“No.” She drove further back onto him, her eyes closing on a groan. “I was too busy trying to tell if it was bigger than yours or not.”

Petyr dug his fingers into her stomach, wanting to tear into her. Sansa’s chest heaved as she panted, all too pleased by his force. “See, it’s hard to tell through all these clothes.” She brought her hand back, fisting the material of his pants to anchor herself as she rubbed against him, “Maybe I’ll let you know when I find out.”

He lost control, his free hand reaching for the hem of her skirt as he bit her neck. She shivered in his arms and he bucked against her ass reflexively. Their bodies called out to one another, begging them to let go of all reason, and he was all too ready to oblige. Sansa breathed, “Unless this is your way of telling me you want to be friends with benefits, too?”

Petyr’s hand covered her milky white thigh, exploring under her skirt, rubbing and gripping all the flesh left unseen. His tongue ran the length of her neck before his lips covered her ear viciously, “You honestly think you can lay beneath me, take me inside you-- _repeatedly_ , and not give a shit?”

Sansa’s eyes met his in the mirror and swallowed. “Do you think I care about you now?”

“Don’t you?” He let his hand travel up towards her breast, cupping it with care.

“No more than any other friend,” she laughed.

Anger welled inside and pressed her hard against the counter, knowing the unrelenting surface would bruise her hips, and feeling glad of it. She winced a little. “You want your wife, and that’s not what I’m giving.”

She’d made that clear enough with all of her talk of friends. His fingers ran over the wet spot on her panties, teasing the layers of flesh beneath it as she spoke. “I’m not giving you garden parties and weekends in Dorne, just a good hard fuck against this counter.”

“Are you?” He asked, forcing her to bend over. “Because it looks like, I’m the one about to fuck you.”

Her hand reached back behind her, fumbling for his pocket and he almost let her go to see what she was after. Almost. Her hand came up, holding something metal and shiny. He had just registered that it was his own knife, and accepted it from her when she braced herself on the counter and demanded, “Cut my panties off.”

His motions were rough as he hiked up her skirt. Her soft moans of pleasure were intoxicating, and he licked his lips at the rounds of ass he spied peeking beneath the bottoms of the silken material. Petyr drove his pelvis against her to relieve some pressure as he brought the blade to her hip. The sound of the material cutting free of her body filled his ears as he breathed, “I’ll call the car.”

“No.” She shook her head as one side of the garment fell open, exposing a full cheek to the open air. His free hand flew to it, greedily squeezing and rubbing. She closed her eyes and panted, “Right here. Fuck me right here.”

Not for the first time, something didn’t feel right. The woman who shunned him was now so surprisingly eager to have him. Petyr wanted to stifle the doubt in his mind and simply run the full length of lead she gave, let himself sink inside her and forget about whatever peril may result from it. He used his grip to part her, noting the slight tremor to her legs as she spread them wider. Petyr dropped his knife on the counter and brought his hand down to discover her opening. “In a hurry?”

Her face flushed, sucking in air as he invaded her and curled his fingers. Sansa’s eyes fluttered shut and her hips rolled on the digits he pumped into her. Petyr rubbed his erection against her partially covered hip and appealed to her, “Let me take you home.”

“No,” she moaned.

Petyr let go of her ass, bringing his free hand to his fly, never ceasing the massage to her insides. “Come on, Sansa. Come home with me.”

She cleared her throat and opened her eyes to stare back into his as she breathed, “No sleepovers.”

Sleepovers? What was she talking about? He wanted her home. “What?”

“It confuses things,” she smiled as she drove herself back down to his knuckle.

His hand stilled on his zipper. “ _Confuses things?_ ”

“I’m just trying to respect Davos’ advice, keep emotions out of it.” Her words knocked the wind out of him and he stood frozen. She kept shifting on his hand. “Are we going to do this or not? My date is waiting.”

He released his grip and pulled free from her as he slid back a step. Petyr eyed her cautiously, warily. Sansa rose off the counter, and shimmied the rest of her ruined panties off, keeping her eye on him as she did. His words were uncertain as he asked, “This was your plan, wasn’t it? How you were going to hurt me?”

She held a condom up in the mirror and grinned, “I’m going to need you to wear this before we go any further.”

Petyr gaped at her, incredulous that she would add such an insult to injury. Sansa took the opportunity to push it even further. “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request. After all, I have no idea where your dick’s been since I left it last.”

His eyes narrowed. Was she implying that he was screwing other women? If she was, she didn’t look very upset by the idea. That actually bothered him more than the implication in the first place. He’d murder anyone stupid enough to fuck her, whereas she seemed completely nonplussed over the idea should the situation be reversed.

“What are you waiting for, Petyr?” Sansa teased. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He pointed at the condom in her hand and barked, “ _That_ is not what I wanted!”

She flicked it at him and shrugged, “Too bad. Keeping some latex between us will make it easier to disconnect. Didn’t it work like that with Lysa?”

Another emotional punch to his gut had Petyr reeling back. Comparing their sex with his and Lysa’s was an attack he’d never saw coming. Sansa’s head tilted as she studied him. His voice was weaker than he needed it to be as he quietly asked, “Do you feel better now?”

“What do you mean?” Sansa played dumb.

Petyr called her out on it, “This whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing was malicious.”

Sansa snapped her purse shut and smoothed her dress down. “Yes.”

“Why?” He popped a mint in his mouth, instantly crunching it as he asked, “Why did you have to sully what we shared by pretending it could be casual? Why would you treat me like I was Clegane or Lysa?”

“Because you hurt me and you have to learn that I’m not your wife anymore. I’m not docile and doting, neither am I settled down and broken in. You fucked up and then only continued to do so.” She took a step towards the door and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Get the message or get hurt again.”

“You definitely wounded me tonight, Sansa. But you haven’t shaken me. Not by a long shot,” he promised her.

She laughed and handed him the remnants of her panties. “It’s time for me to get back to my date. I'll just leave you to fuck your hand now.”

He stood speechless holding the balled up silk in his fist, watching her sashay away from him. The lights and music found their way into the bathroom for the brief moment the door was open, reminding him just how far from comfort she’d dumped him. Petyr held his hand over the trash bin, about to toss the fabric away when he remembered fingering the moisture on them earlier. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he slid them in his pocket. On any other day he would have proudly relished the sight, having a perverted sense of entitlement to anything that smelled of Sansa's pussy. Tonight however, he just felt like the sad sack he'd been reduced to.

He reached for his broken phone and texted Oberyn, hating that he he had to. _Do it._

Neither Petyr or Sansa knew true intimacy before the other, allowing supposed lovers to fondle their bodies for the right price. Perhaps that was why their relationship had always been so physical, constantly touching and coming. They appreciated what it meant to be held by another person because it’d never meant anything to them before.

Petyr grabbed his drink from the counter and took a swig as he headed for the door. He’d come prepared to be hurt, and to forgive her for it. He'd even come prepared to take matters into his own hands if necessary to ensure things didn't get out of hand. He hadn't, however, felt prepared at all for how she'd mock the foundation of what made them, _them_. As he watched her grin and grind against Oberyn again, he almost wished she had fucked the man. It might actually have been less painful than what she had done instead.

Sansa flashed him a glance, and he raised his glass to her, forcing a smile. She had no idea what she was in for, and though he loathed resorting to it, he’d had all he could take. The loud music overpowered his phone’s vibration and Petyr almost missed the text from Olyvar that read, _Elenei woke with a nightmare._

He texted back, _Tell her that I_ _’_ _ll be home soon and put a cartoon on for her to fall asleep to._

He would have to ask Elenei about Mummy’s special friend when the opportunity presented itself. After he shoved the phone back in his pocket, he took another drink and glanced up to see Sansa staring back at him. Of course she would be feeding off his pain. Petyr brought his fingertips to his nose, wanting her to see him inhale her lingering scent. She needed to be reminded that the consequences of some decisions took longer to fade away than others. It was quite the odd sensation; he’d been the one to invade her, yet when she left, he was the one who felt violated.

Oberyn licked his thumb and brought it around to Sansa’s mouth. Even across the crowded dance floor, Petyr could see the white pill stuck to his digit. He wondered what she’d do, shake her head and decline, not trusting an unmarked pill. Or would she smile and accept it, not caring for the danger?

Her eyes found his again, holding his gaze as she opened her mouth and covered Oberyn’s thumb in its entirety. Every hair on Petyr's body stood on end, watching her cheeks hollow with the suction she applied. It was purposeful and obscene and made him want to smash the glass in his hand against the face of the person closest to him. He knew better, though. Being hot-headed had never gotten him anywhere; it was always his patience that took him farther. Soon enough, she'd be just as vulnerable as he'd mistakenly allowed himself to be for so long. Petyr let his rage slow to a simmer as a malicious grin teased the corners of his mouth.  _Sweet dreams, Sansa._

 


	13. Left to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically, you drugged yourself.

Since leaving Petyr, Sansa had many dreams about him and the life they shared. Sometimes they were about how she’d tell him off or get the upper hand in an argument. Other times, they stood across a crowded room, looking at each other with no more hate or malice, only longing. Her favorite dreams were always the ones in which all their guards dropped an any semblance of reserve finally left them. They would rush towards each other, locking in an unyielding embrace. It was so freeing not to have to consider the problems of reality, to let love be enough.

This particular dream, however, was quite different from all of her others. Most only captured sight and sound, never before having accessed her other senses. Yet, there was no mistaking the familiar scent that filled her nostrils now: Petyr’s cologne. She shifted a little at the recognition, and was met with the cool rub of fifteen hundred thread count egyption cotton sheets against naked flesh. She knew instantly that they were their sheets, from their bed. Sansa willed herself to stay asleep, not wanting to wake too soon from such a vivid dream. 

If she was naked in bed, there was a strong chance that there wouldn’t be much arguing, at least. She wouldn’t have minded a wet dream, but with the sudden ability to touch and smell, Sansa though she rather preferred the limited time of slumber be spent simply laying in his arms. Perhaps it would feel real enough for her to hold on to in her waking hours. 

There was a quiet sound she couldn’t place, and though she laid still, her eyes slowly opened of their own accord to investigate. Seeing no imminent threat, she closed her eyes again, attempting to chase her dream again when something occurred to her. What she’d spied when she opened her eyes was not the smooth white ceiling of her home on Kingsroad, but instead the recessed one of the bedroom she’d once shared with Petyr. 

Her eyes snapped wide-open at that realization and she peered around her, not moving a muscle. Sansa drew a breath, feeling some very real sheets slide over her breasts, now aching with a need to express. This was no dream; this was Petyr’s house. Dread flooded her and silent tears seeped from her eyes. 

Desperate to pull herself out of the despair she was suddenly sinking in, she wondered what if it was all a horrible dream? What if Petyr had never betrayed her in favor of her brother? What if he’d remained loyal to her? If she’d dreamed that, then surely all the awful things she’d done in retaliation must have been a part of the nightmare too. Logic promised that there was no way she’d be back home, naked in the bed that she shared with her husband-- _ her husband _ , if they’d both really done all those things to each other. Another tear rolled down her cheek as she smiled with a relief she hadn’t felt in so long. The nightmare was finally over; everything was going to be okay.

“Don’t bother pretending. I know you’re awake.” His voice was bitter and cold. 

She lifted her head to look over her chest at the foot of the bed where Petyr stood. If she thought his voice lacked warmth, his expression was downright frosty. Sansa blinked a few times, hoping it would change, the clearer her vision became. No such luck.

He pointed to the nightstand beside her and ordered,  _ “Pump. _ ” 

There was no more denying the last few weeks. The night before had really happened, just as every night that preceded it. Sansa took a deep breath, willing the tears away, and tamping down her emotions. It was her only strength, only defense. It was time to start donning her armor again piece by piece. Her chin rose defiantly as she lied, “I don’t need to.”

“Bullshit.” His laugh was sick and his tone punishing as he said, “I don’t really care how full or empty your tits are. You’re going to pump all the Serum out of your system, because I don’t want you feeding that shit to my son.” 

Serum. Fuck. 

Sansa tried to think of how she could maintain face through the lie. Seeing no immediate way out, she decided to brazen out the truth, telling herself she could weaponize that well enough if she wrapped it in a tone of hatred. She screwed her face up in disgust as she spat out, “Jesus Christ, Petyr. You’re so fucking gullible.” 

She decided to let it sink in as she sat up, hugging the sheets tightly over her breasts. He was as concise in his response as he tended to be when he was past angered and not yet on to enraged, “ _ Explain _ .”

While his one-word answer made her fight not to flinch, it also stirred a warmth in her heart to see him so affected. His eyes were positively brilliant with his passion, a pair of emeralds sparkling at her. Sansa bit the inside of her lip, letting the mild dose of pain remind her that those eyes belonged to a liar who never really respected her. It was with an exaggerated eye roll that she said, “ _ Obviously, _ Petyr, I didn’t take the Serum. I just told you that to--” She stopped herself from admitting it was to hurt him. Instead, Sansa hid behind derision. “Get a _ rise _ out of you.”

Petyr stared at her predatorily. She figured he was silently awaiting his moment to pounce and rip her limb from limb. There was no other option but to meet his gaze, however severe it was. Sansa couldn’t allow herself to fall prey, knowing there was no place in this world for the weak. She sharpened her glare, fiercely holding her ground to the best of her ability, being that she was naked in his bed, and she didn’t remember how she got there. She was in too vulnerable of a situation and had to get out as soon as she could. 

Judging by the distinct lack of affection in his tone, they hadn’t exactly made up. Anxiety nettled her as she wondered why couldn’t she remember getting there. She’d specifically avoided drinks and drugs, even told Oberyn she wasn’t going to imbibe, because she knew she’d have Durran back after. At twenty-eight years old, Sansa was certain she could fake inebriation well enough to fool Petyr, and didn’t actually need any chemical aid to do it. 

Petyr cocked his head at her, studying, looking for the lie. She offered a wry smile, noting just what little stock they put in each other’s words anymore. Part of her hated that he didn’t believe her, but before the feeling could settle, another part of her took pleasure in it.  _ Serves him right _ , it said. He lied first; betrayed her. Chose her brother over her. She’d do anything and everything to sever all ties with a man that would disrespect her wishes and cast her aside so easily. Each time he appealed to her only disgusted her more. He didn’t even have the decency to apologize. What was to say he wouldn’t do it again? What was to say that he wouldn’t decide one day that Bran mattered more than her again? Or Rickon? Or Arya? Fuck, even as much as he hated Robb, she couldn’t be sure that one day, even he would become a higher priority to Petyr than her. 

The problem was, and had always been, her feelings. They just wouldn’t go away. She could stuff them down for everyone else, everyone except Petyr. What a beautiful goddamned fantasy he gave her for seven years, only to finally pull the rug out from under her and let her finally see just how little she meant to him. That should have been enough for her to detach. Cut her losses and run. But it wasn’t. Every time she looked at him, she was flooded with memories of the life they shared. Each time they threw insults at each other, she wanted to fly at him and wrap her arms around him, nuzzle into his cheek and feel his palms smooth over her hair. 

But she couldn’t. 

What self-respecting woman would allow herself to do such a thing? Crawl back to the man that let her know in no uncertain terms, demonstrating clearly through his actions, that she meant fuck-all to him. Hell no. Sansa was not a woman who could simply roll over and take it. Not in a marriage. Maybe for power, for gain, for a goddamned leg up. But not in a marriage, a true-blue, honest to all the gods above and below marriage. She made vows, vows that she meant. To a man that made vows to her, vows she thought he meant too. This was real. If nothing else in her life was real, this was. Petyr and Sansa Baelish were partners in everything, two people deeply in love and devoted to each other. And then suddenly, one morning, over a plate of bacon, fresh from climax, he decided that honesty didn’t matter. Her feelings didn’t matter. He took the easy way out and lied. To her. 

Sansa needed to stop. She couldn’t keep living in the intoxicating world of Baelish royalty anymore. It was time to treat the addiction, kick the habit, quit Petyr cold turkey. That was hard to do with him chasing after her, reminding her of how easy it could all be if she just closed her eyes and allowed herself to be his woman again. 

To be fair, Petyr always took care of her, made her feel like she was the apple of his eye and thought of everything, solving problems before they took form. It always felt good-- _ right _ , to be his. And to her own credit, she tried her hardest to be what he needed whenever she could. Sansa became warm loving, holding him close when he was sad and depressed, just as she became that hard and unrelenting force to make him stand up and fight whenever he was down and needed picking up. 

That was the reality of their marriage. Both of them were broken, but they were both trying their hardest, having only eyes and hearts for each other. Everyone else was an afterthought, until one day, Petyr placed her on the backburner.  

How did one quit cold-turkey when the substance kept finding its way back in their system?

Detox. 

She had to get rid of Petyr and the only way to do that was to hurt him-- _ break _ him. While Sansa nursed her youngest, looking into the eyes he’d inherited from his father--her drug of choice, she promised Durran that she would be better. She refused to let her children see her be disrespected by a supposed equal, no matter how intoxicating their passion was. Durran giggled when she smiled at him and blinked back tears, knowing the only way to come out the other side of this was to make Petyr absolutely hate her. 

In order to do that, she had to be cruel and unforgivable. Oberyn’s name came to mind and she tried to picture herself with him, but couldn’t, wincing at the thought. Prior to Petyr, sex didn’t have feeling. It was simply a means to an end, and suspected strongly that after Petyr, it would be same. There was no point in fucking Oberyn. There was nothing to gain from it, unless she desired him or thought he could offer her the same type of passion Petyr could. Neither were the case. Even though Oberyn was a proclaimed Casanova, there was no way he could compare to what she’d had. 

Oberyn was simply a tool to be used, but not underestimated. He wasn’t stupid and he was obviously working for Petyr. He had to be. How else would he have the courage to approach her? Flirting was one thing, but he went so far as to hint that he’d been willing to cross a line or two with her. Oberyn was too smart to make that leap without allowances. It would be just like Petyr to cling to the only black or white subject of their commitment to each other, focusing on fidelity. It was simple: a foreign dick in the hole was as unforgivable an offense as falling cock-first into some brainless twat. 

It would be the quick solution, tearing them apart completely and forever. Their separation was what she told herself she wanted, so she didn’t know why she couldn’t bring herself to trailblaze past that line like she had all the others. There was no coming back from it, and perhaps that’s why she couldn’t. 

That wasn’t to say that she expected they’d ever return to each other after all was said and done. She was out to push him away, and should she accomplish that goal, she was certain she would do something else unforgivable. After Petyr, Sansa knew she wouldn’t move on. That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t one day. Despite his position and all that came with it, Petyr showed the world a cold calculation that kept him alive, but inside he had so much love to give. Thank god for Lysa being a wretched bitch with just the right amount of hierarchy. Had he not gotten tangled up with her, Petyr might have given his heart to someone else, someone more permanent.

Would he have ever chosen her if he had loved another before her? Sometimes she felt like the only chance she had at keeping his attention was the sheer fact that she accepted him and all his flaws. Had any other woman done that for him? Was it really all that special, or just another dime a dozen quality he could find anywhere? Who could say. All she knew as that if Petyr found another woman, she’d simply track down the stupid cunt that dared take his dick, and slice her up so bad she couldn’t hold a tampon, let alone him, ever again. 

“You expect me to believe you didn’t drink or take any drugs? With the way you were acting?” His voice interrupted her thoughts.

Sansa blinked, slowly. It helped to not look at him as she forced a level of nonchalance she didn’t feel. “I don’t really care what you believe. I lied to piss you off. And I kept myself clean to feed my son when I picked up him.” To drive the point home, she added, “My life is more than just what you think of me.”  

Petyr chuckled as he turned away from the bed. “Oh Sansa, you should care what I think.” 

She fought the urge to ask why as she watched him saunter. Luckily, Petyr was in a mood to explain. “We’re finally going to be honest with each other--” 

“That’s rich coming from you,  _ a liar _ ,” Sansa interrupted, hoping it would throw him off his stride. She would use whatever advantage she had. 

He waited patiently until she stopped talking, and continued, undeterred. “You’re stuck here until I’m convinced that your answers, however  _ unsatisfying _ they may be, are at the very least truthful.” 

Stuck here? Sansa refused to turn her head as her eyes darted around the room. Was she being held against her will? Had she come here under false pretenses? She raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “And will you be answering any questions I ask, honestly?”

Petyr smirked, and it could have been interpreted in a million different ways, had he not eventually bowed his head. “Now, pump.”

Sansa glanced over to the pump on the nightstand, feeling the painful pressure in her breasts. Defiance shot through her and she considered ignoring the pain in favor of protest. Seemingly aware of her thoughts, Petyr waved his hand dismissively at her, “Yes, yes. I believe you didn’t take the Serum. But I know you took the GHB.” 

The hair stood up on the back of her neck and she didn’t recognize her voice as she asked, “GHB?”

“That’s what I said,” he sighed.

“You drugged me?” Saying it aloud didn’t make it any less startling.

He gave another trademark smirk and then responded, “Technically, you drugged yourself.” He took obvious pleasure in her bewilderment as he explained, “Or do you not remember deep-throating Oberyn’s thumb and sucking it like a Dyson?”

Oh shit. 

She’d been watching Petyr across the dance floor when Oberyn whispered in her ear that he could take all the pain she suffered away. Sansa scoffed at that, not a naive girl anymore, no longer hanging any hope on such vague and listless promises. His hand traveled down her arm. “You’re so tense, every muscle tight.” He persisted, “Why not at least take the edge off?” 

Petyr looked like an absolute wreck, popping his mints and glaring. She couldn’t blame him; she didn’t even recognize herself as she said the things she had, using anything and everything she could grasp at to inflict pain. Sansa was going to end her addiction to Petyr by any means necessary, even if it meant gutting him and leaving him for dead. She just hadn’t anticipated what that would feel like. It was awful to watch, and yet she couldn’t let herself look away. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Just a little teeny weeny bitty baby Ativan. It’ll relax you,” Oberyn promised. 

Sansa searched her brain, trying to remember what she knew about the drug. When one of the many doctors Bran saw, prescribed it to him, she’d looked it up, praying it wasn’t addictive. Granted, she’d skimmed over the pregnant and breastfeeding section, knowing that neither applied to Bran, but deep in the recesses of her brain she remembered it was okay provided she wait a few hours before nursing. She laughed at Oberyn, “Of all the drugs, you keep an anti-anxiety med on hand?” 

He chuckled, “Ellaria gets wound up sometimes, I carry it for her. Though, I must warn you. If you are anything like my Ellaria, it’s always long after you need it, that you find you want it.”

Sansa smiled, and was about to decline when she noticed Petyr. He had the audacity to raise his glass to her as if in toast of something. 

What was he toasting? The thought of him rallying himself, crawling back to the safety of denial was too much. She couldn’t go through that again. Sansa had strayed too far from the life and love she had, back-biting and fighting. And to what end? For him to simply shake it off and pretend it didn’t happen. No. Sansa couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t keep going through this. When Oberyn held the pill in front of her face, she took a deep breath and plastered a smile even she didn’t believe on her face as she reached to take it. As a last ditch effort to dispel any hope of denial that Petyr might have had, she wrapped her lips around the entirety of Oberyn’s thumb. While it wasn’t the worst experience of her life, she took no pleasure in it and wondered how long it would take Petyr to give up and leave, so that she could too.

The tension in her body eased and her nerves calmed as she eyed her favorite drug, a pair of hypnotic grey-green irises. Her lids grew heavy as she watched him, suddenly feeling so serene that she wondered why she’d never made Ativan a more regular part of her life before. 

Of course it wasn’t Ativan. She bawled her fists as she growled, “You son of a bitch.” 

His voice was hard and punishing again as he repeated, “Pump.”

Sansa glared daggers at him as she reached over for the equipment. She had no idea how long GHB stayed in a person’s system and wasn’t about to take any chances. Petyr probably justified drugging her by telling himself that he’d just have her pump the next day. No harm, no foul. Fucking idiot. 

Suddenly feeling modest, she dragged the pump under the sheet and fixed it to her breast. His amused expression only heightened her rage. He didn’t seem to notice as he commanded, “Tell me something real, right now. Anything.” 

“I _ really _ hate you.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t hate me. Davos said you wouldn’t go through all the trouble you did last night if you actually hated me.” 

It was Sansa’s turn to laugh. “And you wouldn’t have done what you did last night if you actually loved me.” 

“What?” His jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? Everything I’ve done is because of my love for you. And what a fool I’ve been for it.”

Sansa tried to ignore the persistent suction at her nipple and the tear that threatened to escape as she spat out the words that tasted so vile on her tongue. “You can’t _ rape me _ , and then say you love me.”

Confusion wrinkled his brow as he repeated, “Rape you?”

Sansa tried not to think of just how violated she felt as she pointed out, “You slipped me a date rape drug, and I woke up naked in your bed.” 

His nostrils flared, and his cheeks flushed in fury. “This right here.” He ground his teeth. “This is why we’re over, Sansa.” 

“Over?” She eyed him skeptically. 

He nodded. “Oh yes. So completely over.” His voice raised as he exclaimed, “What choice do I have? You always think the absolute worst about me.” 

Sansa gaped at him. Was he serious? Finding her voice again, she emphasized, “ _ Naked _ . In your bed. GH- _ fucking _ -B you asshole! And now  _ you’re _ breaking up with  _ me _ ?” Just hearing herself say it made her want to rip the pump from her breast and smash his face with it.

“Did it occur to you that perhaps I didn’t actually fuck your unconscious body? Or did you just rush straight to evil villain?” He shot back. 

“G. H. B.” 

Petyr closed his eyes. 

She refused to let him off that easily. “Why am I naked if you didn’t take advantage?” 

He sighed, “I washed you.” 

“You what?” She asked, unsure how she felt about that. It was obviously better than him using her body without her consent. She couldn’t help but wonder if bathing her didn’t still somehow sate some perverted pleasure of his, regardless.

“You were sweaty and caked in makeup. I merely washed the club off of you, and then put you to bed. I couldn’t have you stinking up my sheets.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.” 

Sansa chuckled. 

He shot her a glare. “Last night definitely stripped you of your beauty, Sansa. Believe me when I tell you, I took no more joy in seeing your naked tits then, than I am right now.” 

“Then where are my clothes?” Sansa broke the seal on the pump and grabbed another bottle to fill. 

“You can have them when we’re finished talking.” 

“Excuse me?” Sansa asked, incredulous.

He gave a wry smile. “You’re less likely to bolt in your birthday suit.”

Well, he had her there. She gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Ask away. What do you want to know?” 

“Why did you pull that shit with me last night?”

Sansa pressed the pump to her other breast, not looking up as she replied, “Because I get off on it.”

“Honesty is your key to freedom,” he reminded her. “You’re lying. You want me to believe you enjoyed yourself last night, so you feel on top.” 

Anger prickeled her palms as she gripped the sheet with her free hand and scowled. “Being held against my will without any clothes to wear, pumping the chemical I was drugged with out of my tits as quickly as it’ll come, while also being interrogated by my ex, is hardly _ on top _ .”

His smirk deepened. She could hear the amusement in his voice as he said, “Well, that was honest.” He perched on the foot of the bed and looked at her. “Seriously, though. What do we have to lose? It’s not as if our relationship depends on it anymore. Let’s do each other the respect.” 

“Respect?” She scoffed. “Like how you respected me when you gave Bran a job.” 

“He’s family, and I helped him out. How is that disrespecting you?” He challenged. 

Sansa pulled the pump from her breast and set it on the nightstand, glad to be done with it. “You knew how I felt about it, and you went ahead anyway.” 

“Since when have I had to obey your wishes?”

“Notice how quickly we’ve moved from respect to  _ obey _ ,” she highlighted. 

“Well, your panties are in a twist because I didn’t do what you wanted me to. I overrode you,” he reasoned.

“Yes.” It had nothing to do with the fact that he did something she didn’t want him to, and everything to do with the fact that he made her feel so far beneath him. “I decided when I agreed to marry you, under that pier with the Lannister shipment burning beside us, that I’d be your equal or I’d be nothing to you at all.” 

“What are you getting at?”

“The minute you ‘overrode’ me, was the minute you decided that you were greater than me. You were above me.” She shook her head, hating that she had to spell it out for him. She repeated, “I will be your equal or nothing at all. If you were going to assert yourself above me, take away the equal footing we always came together on, then I would walk.” 

Silence filled the air as he considered her words. Finally, his voice was soft as he looked away from her. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“I could have forgiven it. In time.” She couldn’t believe she just told him that. It was a tenderness she couldn’t usually afford to give him. The knowledge that he’d finally given up, really had freed her to be more forthright than she’d been able to when he still wanted her. “But, you lied to me.”

He turned his head to stare at her. Though he didn’t open his mouth to offer a defense, she knew he was thinking of a thousand. Before he had a chance to utter a single one of them, she pressed on. “Your lie told me that I wasn’t worth your time.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“You’re a smooth talker, Petyr.” Sansa pulled the sheet tighter to herself. “You could have told me about your intentions with Bran. Hell, you probably could have even convinced me to go back on my word, to betray the Reeds and lie to Meera. But you didn’t. Instead, you lied. Because explaining things to me, compromising with me, wasn’t worth your time. _ I  _ wasn’t worth your time.”

Petyr shook his head. “No. You’ve got it wrong there. It’s not that you weren’t worth my time, Sansa. The bargain with the Lannisters was already struck: one Lannister man, and one Baelish. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to find out and be upset. I was already all in.” 

“You could have pulled him out, Petyr.” 

“And I didn’t want to,” he sighed. “I had already told Bran he had a job. It would be one thing if I hadn’t already gotten his hopes up, but I had. I was determined to follow through.” 

Sansa’s phone rang on the nightstand, startling her. “Who is it?” Petyr asked. 

Seeing no need to lie about it, Sansa answered, “Robb.” 

“Ignore it,” Petyr instructed. 

She furrowed her brow at him, “What if I don’t want to?” 

“Sansa.” There was warning in his tone. 

Considering her current circumstances, it was a warning that she decided to heed. She let her hand drop away from her phone, and looked back to him. Petyr’s eyes narrowed at her again. “Robb’s become quite the vigilant brother lately.” 

“He’s just worried about me,” Sansa explained. 

“Why would that be?” 

She sighed, “Why would you think? We _ dispose _ of people we’re done with. It would be really easy to add me to the pile of mob wives at the bottom of a river.” 

“I could never kill you,” Petyr spoke with conviction. There was a tremor of emotion in his voice that Sansa clung to. He’d been so cold up until that point, his passion betraying him on the subject of her death. Her own emotions tightened her chest, and she was taken aback when his voice hardened again. “My children will have a mother in their life.” 

His desire to keep her alive and protected wasn’t due to his feelings for her, but instead the trauma of his own childhood. He grew up without a mother, and he was going to be damn sure that didn’t happen to his children. 

She was split open, loving him for putting their children first and simultaneously hating him for falling out of love with her. Animus filled her wounded heart and she ripped the sheet away from her chest, exposing herself fully to him. What did it matter if he saw her naked? He sure as fuck didn’t desire her anymore. She was being kept alive only to mind the children she’d beared for him.

Petyr’s eyebrows shot up as she got out of bed. “What are you doing?” 

He hadn’t expected that. Good. She hadn’t exactly expected to be reduced so low in status. There was more to her than her ability to burp a baby and read a bedtime story. Sansa hooked her hair behind her ears and shot him a scowl as she paced back and forth. “I need to move.”

“Naked?” 

“Will you give me clothes?” She challenged. 

A small smile played across his lips and there was a delighted glint in his eyes as he answered, “No.”

“Then I guess I’m walking naked,” she growled. 

“If you’re trying to seduce me--”

She snorted. “I’d be crawling in your lap, running my fingers through your hair, and sucking your bottom lip. Does it look like I’m doing any of those things?” She shot back over her shoulder. Then turned around to pace back in the other direction. 

The amusement never left his eyes as he watched her and she wanted to throttle him for it. She took a deep breath and told herself to find her strength again. Forcing a laugh she said, “Honestly, Petyr. You shot yourself in the foot here.” 

“Did I?” His lips twitched. 

“Yes.” She gestured down to her nudity. “Keeping my clothes from me was a petty powerplay. If you got no reaction out of me at all, you could at least count on humiliation to root me in place. But you fucked that up when you let me know in no uncertain terms just how little you want me. I’m just another set of tits to you now, so who cares?”

Sansa stared at him, hoping he would deny it, show any indication that she was wrong. She should have been pleased that he was done with her. It was the only thing that would break her addiction to Petyr, and she knew she had to do just that if she was ever going to get free. She meant it when she said she would love someone who was her equal, and leave whoever put themselves above her. No woman deserved to be treated lesser than the man she shared a life with. 

“If I hadn’t stopped you, would you have fucked Oberyn?” The question came out of nowhere, and gave Petyr a whole new litany of expressions. 

Oh, he was good. He’d hidden whatever reaction he had to her words, by slapping her with something else entirely. Two could play that game. “Would it really matter? I left you, and now you’re leaving me. Though, I don’t really understand how that works, since I never actually took you back… so you’re essentially leaving someone who isn’t there in the first place.”

He chuckled. “You’re digressing. I expect honesty, now.” 

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t give a shit about his expectations, but the question of what she had to lose swirled around in her brain, along with the answer: nothing. Not the children or her life. They were guaranteed, no matter what awful thing she said or did. Both the best and worst thing Petyr could have done to her was to stop loving her, and he already had. There must have been some bewitchment in time. Just the night before she watched their reflections in the mirror, his held her close and appealed for her to come home with him. Yet this morning he was cold and insensitive. In mere hours, all his affection for her had gone. Had it drained from him through the course of her sleep, or had it disappeared as quick as the blink of an eye? There one minute and gone the next. 

For that matter, what did anything matter anymore? She sighed in exasperation and threw her arms up. “No. Okay? I thought about fucking him to hurt you. But I didn’t.” Then she turned and shrugged, “And then I thought about fucking him because I wanted you, and I’ve got a great imagination. But again, I didn’t.” 

Petyr’s smug smirk dimpled his face. “I was right.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes, knowing he was referring to when he pointed out that if she ever did fuck Oberyn, she’d be picturing him the entire time instead. “Yes.” 

“I am sorry.” 

Her head shot up in surprise. “For what?” 

“About Bran.” 

“Where did that come from?” He’d just been gloating, and then all of a sudden he apologized for Bran. 

Petyr shrugged. “I was thinking about what you said, and you were right.” 

“I was right?” She fought to keep her jaw from dropping. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I should have apologized, but I never did.” 

“No. You didn’t,” Sansa took a step forward, her brow still wrinkled in confusion. If he was taking the opportunity to get some honest answers, she would too. “Why didn’t you?” 

Petyr sighed as he rose from the bed. He rubbed his forehead as he took a few steps and said, “Because Rickon said that I need to be needed.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Sansa exclaimed in surprised confusion. “When did you talk to Rickon?”

He paced a couple of steps as the wheels in his mind turned, clearly weighing his words. “It wasn’t long after we separated. He told me that I should apologize to you. Up until that point I’d only been focused on feeling sorry for my part in Bran being harmed--”

“Paralyzed. Not ‘harmed,’ don’t sugar coat it.” Sansa suddenly felt so powerful, being the one to ask the questions, to finally get the truth.

He eyed her warily as he said, “Stop clubbing me with it. It was a horrible accident. I understand what he’s lost. You don’t have to keep reminding me.” 

Sansa froze, feeling rather like a child being scolded, and dropped her gaze away from his. “You were saying?”

There was a brief pause and then Petyr’s words filled her ears again. “I was truly sorry for Bran, but I hadn’t realized what my actions had meant _ to you _ . Rickon did. Somehow.  _ Rickon _ , of all people. It was quite disconcerting to have someone so far outside of our marriage able to explain my trespass. I never saw it myself.”

“So you decided not to apologize on principle?” Sansa asked without sarcasm, only genuine confusion. 

Petyr’s eyes found hers. “It wasn’t on principle, so much as I was caught up on the idea that everyone seems to think I need to be needed. And then Davos brought up dependency, and you were telling me I had mommy issues.”

Sansa swallowed, remembering all too well that particular comment. She shrugged and forced a smile as she teased, “Well, you said I had mommy  _ and _ daddy issues. So, I think you got me back.” 

He gave a soft chuckle. “We weren’t exactly fighting fair, were we?” 

Her cheeks started to hurt from her smile as she took another step closer without even realizing, so strong was her urge to run her fingers over the side of his face. That always calmed him, and her too. He must have noticed her slow approach because he stiffened, his pupils constricting as he said, “But you went too far when you used my fortieth against me.” 

“What?” Sansa retreated a step. She tried to remember that day, the candles and cake, the people in attendance, the bath they shared later that night. “What are you talking about?” 

He scoffed, “Seriously? We said we’d tell the truth.” 

“I am,” she insisted. And she was. “What about your fortieth birthday?” 

His fists clenched as he mocked her, “ _ What do you need a mother for? To take care of you? _ ” He slapped his hand to his chest as he emphasized, “ **_I_ ** _ take care of you! _ ”

Oh no.

She hadn’t meant it like that. Fuck. Sansa shook her head. “I didn’t...I wasn’t… It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He asked doubtfully. 

Sansa should have stopped. She should have just allowed him to think that awful thing about her. It was a deep wound she’d never meant to inflict, and it had to have helped him decide he was done with the relationship. Reason told her to keep her mouth shut, let him hate her. Something inside her wouldn’t relent, however, demanding she tell him the truth. It had felt so good to finally smile  _ with _ him. All of the things she done purposefully to hurt him would have to be enough, she didn’t need him believing things she hadn’t meant, too. 

She crossed her arms in front of her as she admitted, “I said you had mommy issues simply to hurt you. Davos pushed us about perpetual problems and when I said it, I was thinking about all the times that you needed me to take care of you over the years.” She looked him in the eye, bringing as much truth to the table as she could muster. “I _ promise you _ , when I said that, your birthday hadn’t even entered my mind.” 

He stared back, searching her. Silence passed and she breathed in time with the familiar tick of the clock in their bedroom. Finally, he spoke, “Was it really that much of a hardship on you? To love me? To  _ nurture _ me.” His words were vulnerable, but there was a brutality in his tone that made her cringe. 

Goosebumps covered Sansa’s body as she realized just how unprotected she was. Her naked body was the physical equivalent to his emotions, exposed and open to attack. He at least had the element of tone and control to defend him against anything she threw his way. She on the other hand, was as weakened as she’d ever been. Her outsides were without cover, while her insides warred between needing to flee and wanting to dig her heels in and stay, both thankful that he’d finally detached from her, and desperate to feel him close again. 

“No,” she whispered. It wasn’t hard at all to love Petyr Baelish, the man who cherished her and gave all of himself to her. It was actually harder to tell herself that she deserved a marriage like what they used to have, before he’d shown her how irrefutably beneath him, he viewed her. Her words betrayed her as she added without thinking, “It was my pleasure.” 

His resulting laugh was unhinged, and she jumped when she saw him pull his knife from his pocket and repeatedly stab it into the top of the dresser closest to him. Sansa fought not to wince with each loud thump of the metal driving into the wood. When he finally stopped, he inhaled deeply. His words came slow and pressured, barely kept on their leash. “I made knowing you my specialty, and it’s only now that I’m finally starting to see that I’ll never understand you.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” she tried to joke.

“I never knew what you wanted, a man who took charge or one who opened up enough to let you take the lead. You said you wanted equality--wouldn’t settle for any less, but all you ever showed me was an imbalance. Either you were content to sit back and let me fall to my knees worshipping you, or you demanded my power, wanting me to take charge and assert dominance.” He shook his head. “You gave me whiplash with all the back and forth.”

Sansa felt her stomach sink. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would be upset with her for anything other than the vile things she’d said to hurt him. This was getting much deeper than she could have anticipated. “I didn’t realize I was so baffling. I’ve never been quiet about what I want.” 

He simply shook his head at that and she found the words pouring out of her, “It’s just a fucking kink, okay?” 

“ _ Kink? _ ” His face screwed in disbelief. 

“I’m attracted to your strength and I’m drawn to your vulnerability.” She realized quickly that she was speaking in the present tense. They were done. He made that clear. Sansa needed to pull it together. “What woman wouldn’t want the man she’s with to be strong and powerful and able to carry his own weight?” 

“Carry my own weight?” He raised his eyebrows and smirked. 

She nodded. “Yes, damn it. No woman wants a little boy who hides behind her whenever things get hard. You don’t. Never did. You had-- _ have _ , your own strength. And I found that attractive.” Sansa looked away as she quietly admitted, “Particularly between the sheets.”

He cleared his throat and she glanced at him. Whatever hope she had of finding him even remotely affected was dashed when she saw him staring straight ahead, blank faced. The urge to push him further took over, and she prodded him for some sort of reaction. “You have no idea how incredibly sexy it was to have someone willing to do absolutely anything to keep me, including killing anyone who looked at me sideways.” She closed her eyes and smiled in memory, then added, “ _ And _ , it was just as fucking hot to have that same unstoppable powerhouse clutched close to me, head on my breast, needing me--and  _ only me _ , to kiss his forehead and rub his back.” Sansa opened her eyes and looked at him, “Both did it for me. The giving and the taking. I usually left it to you to determine when I would get which.” 

Petyr turned away, and paced back and forth while the honesty overwhelmed him. He sounded a little choked up as he handed her a pile of clothes and asked, “And where did this much-cherished  _ equality _ fit in?” 

Sansa reached for the folded up jeans and t-shirt, telling herself not let her fingertips graze his hand, but wanting to all the same. “Everywhere else.” 

He raised an eyebrow as she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the pair of underwear on. “Kids, family, money, the job.” She grabbed a bra from the stack, noting that it definitely wasn’t her favorite one, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Marriage is a partnership and I wanted a partner, Petyr.” She suspected that he had wanted that too. “I know that I let a lot of things go, for a long time.” Sansa felt for the hook, relieved to finally find it. “I should have been more involved with the business. I had babies and I stayed home more, and that’s not an excuse, just a contributing factor.” She glanced at the jeans and the shirt, not sure which to don first and then grabbed the shirt. “So, for that, I’m sorry.” She paused while she pulled it over her head. “I needed to feel like your equal, but I never really put that out there.” She grabbed the jeans now, letting gravity unfold them as she eyed him. “I simply assumed you knew that and then grew increasingly disappointed when you didn’t.” Again she sat at the edge of the bed, sliding each leg on. “I’m not sorry I left you. I won’t tie myself to someone who doesn’t respect me as an equal shareholder in the relationship. But, I am sorry that I never seemed to let you know that was something I needed.” Sansa turned away from him as she fastened the jeans, knowing it was the only way to keep her voice from breaking. “Perhaps if I had said it earlier on, you would have been different.  _ Things _ could have been different.”

Her eyes were stinging and she felt like she might throw up. It had been too much honesty all at once, and she’d realized just how irreparable they were. She had her share of supposed friends, but no one knew her like Petyr, and because of it, he was was naturally the first person she wanted to run to, but he was now the last person she could. 

“We both hurt each other, Sansa.” His voice filled her ears and she couldn’t resist the magnetic pull of it, turning to face him. “Apologies are great for closure, but the difference between what I did to you, and what you did to me, is that whatever mistake I made, I never meant to hurt you. Call it naivety, confusion, or even hubris. Whatever works for you.” He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “But, everything you did to me was completely intentional.”

She clenched her jaw, forcing a cracked facade to hide the agony she felt inside. His words and the undeniable truth behind them pierced her heart, and she started grasping at straws, “Where do we go from here?” 

“We don’t go anywhere, Sansa.” Petyr squinted his eyes in disgust at her. “You are the mother of my children, and as head of the north, you are a business associate.”

Business associate. 

He’d just taken a cheesegrater to whatever was left of her heart, ensuring every last ounce was torn to shreds. A small voice in her head reminded her that she wanted this. A louder more injured voice squealed that she didn’t know it would feel like this. She’d gladly crawl back into her addiction and suffer the same consequences as every other junky, if it meant she didn’t have to suffer the crash of such withdrawal.

Petyr walked towards the door, calling over his shoulder, “I think you’ll find because of the children, that it is in your best interests to align yourself with me. You may have ruined my happily ever after, but I won’t kill you for it. That doesn’t mean that other people don’t want your head for other reasons.” He opened the door for her and emphasized. “Cersei. Dany.”

Sansa shook her head, barely aware she was. Her mind was swimming with the finality of things. They were done. Done-done. The Baelishes were officially over. Her voice cracked, “ _ No _ .”

“What was that?” Petyr leaned in, trying to hear her. 

She took a shaky step forward, into the hallway she’d known for over seven years, a hallway she would never walk down again and felt her chin quiver as she cleared her throat. “No.”

This couldn’t be real. Sansa was going to close her eyes and wake up in bed with him next to her. Ignorance was bliss. She would pretend nothing was wrong, every issue easily overlooked, if only she could go back. Fuck self-respect. Fuck dignity. She would embrace the emotional addiction and the tell-tale track marks that came with it.

“No, what?” Petyr asked. 

_ Just, no. No. Goddamnit. I’m not leaving. I refuse. It was all a misunderstanding. We’re both sorry. Didn’t we both say we were sorry? Why can’t that be enough? This isn’t the end. It can’t be the end. I love you and you used to love me. We can find that again. NO!  _ Sansa’s mind raced out of control. Panic flooded her brain, sending adrenaline coursing through her veins, making her shake and perspire. She met his gaze, so cool and decided. Everything was messy and mean and there was no way out, other than acquiescence. Sansa swallowed back the bile in her throat and straightened. Strength came from pain. She knew that as well as anyone. “Cersei isn’t after me, like you think.”

He cocked his head in question. 

“She called me yesterday, before I left with Oberyn.” 

“Ah, yes.  _ Before _ you introduced him as your ‘special friend’ to our daughter,” Petyr scowled. 

Sansa pursed her lips. 

“Or was that another lie?” Petyr smirked. 

Unwilling to say it aloud, Sansa merely stared at him, letting her silence answer. He chuckled, “It’s ironic that I lied once and it was enough to send you away, but since we’ve been apart it’s been one lie after another slipping from your lips.” 

She cringed and then shot back defensively, “At least I never lied when it counted, when we loved each other.” 

His cheek twitched at that. The amusement he took in her suffering was unbearable and she was fast becoming glad of a promised escape. “And what did Cersei want?” 

She eyed him and he grinned. “If we’re to be partners, it’s important we know each other’s business, Sansa.”

“She wanted to meet for a spa day. With the loss of Joffrey, she needed some time out of the house to relax,” Sansa explained. “We’re going tomorrow.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” Petyr nodded. 

Sansa rolled her eyes, finally able to wear the mask of indifference that tended to keep her safe. “You would have found out regardless.” 

“I’m sure,” he admitted and then blocked her from walking past him. “Never use the children against me again. Do you understand?”

“I didn’t,” Sansa glared back. 

His grip was unrelenting as he insisted, “I don’t care if it was just pretend. Never again.”

She nodded back, feeling her face heat. Overall, she’d been more than reasonable with Petyr concerning the children. Most men would be grateful for such allowances, but not Petyr. Never satisfied with fair, he always grasped for more. Then again, so did she. She bit her cheek to keep the tears inside. 

Before any more words could pass between them, a man she didn’t recognize approached. His hair was white and his face beat red, wind burnt. Sansa tried not stare at his hook-nose as he spoke, “The older brother is here, Mr. Baelish. He refuses to leave.” 

Petyr appraised Sansa. “Why would Robb be here?” 

She sighed, “Because I didn’t answer his call, and I told you, he’s protective.” 

“For the time being,” Petyr quipped. 

“MUM!” Elenei screeched as she ran to her, a flurry of black hair and limbs. 

Sansa scooped her up, taking comfort in the unconditional love they shared as only a mother and child could. “Good morning, Sweetheart.” 

“Are you here?” Elenei asked with excitement. “No more work? Back home for good with me and Durran and Daddy?” 

Sansa glanced to Petyr. He answered for her, “No, Princess. Mum was just here to pick you and Durran up. Lots of work to do.” That hurt. 

“I hate work!” Elenei pouted and buried her face in Sansa’s neck. 

She took a deep breath and then started rubbing Elenei’s little back. “Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.” 

Petyr raised an eyebrow and Sansa closed her eyes to it, stepping forward with Elenei in her arms. Her daughter’s tiny voice whispered in her ear, “Uncle Robb’s here, and he looks mad.” 

“Does he?” Sansa asked. 

She felt Elenei nod against her. “Well, let's go see what his problem is.” 

“Yes, lets.” Petyr stepped beside her and gestured forward. “Lead the way Oswell.”

Oswell? Who was Oswell? It was a short journey to the foyer where Robb was kept waiting. His eyes were wild as he exclaimed, “Sansa! You’ve got to come home, right away.” 

“I was just leaving,” she assured him. 

“Why the rush?” Petyr asked, his attention entirely on Robb. 

Sansa watched her brother, frustration and panic clear on his face. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. “Robb?” 

His voice broke, “Sans, you just gotta come home.  _ Now _ .”

She glanced to Petyr, who met her gaze. His look was one of caution as her eyes darted back to Robb. He nervously shifted from one foot to the other, silently pleading for her to follow. “Cover your ears, Sweetheart.” 

“Aww, come on!” Elenei protested. 

“You heard your mother, Princess.” Petyr’s voice sounded. 

“I miss everything,” Elenei pouted as she raised her palms to her ears. 

Sansa turned back to Robb, “What’s going on?” 

He shook his head. “It’s Ygritte.”

“What about Ygritte?”

“They got her,” he hissed. 

“Got her?” Petyr asked. 

“Who?” Sansa asked. 

Robb shook his head. “We got home late last night and she was on the fucking floor.  _ Dead! _ I don’t know who. Lannisters? Greyscale?” He turned to Petyr and pointed, “Could be him for all I know!” 

The word  _ dead, _ echoed in Sansa’s head and she gasped, “ _ Jon? _ ” 

“Is a fucking mess!”

“How?” Petyr asked. “How was she killed?” 

Robb screwed his face in disgust. “Does that really matter?”

“Yes,” Sansa breathed. Kill styles were as good as a signature. 

He shook his head, “She was stabbed. In the heart, left to bleed out on the floor.”

Sansa’s memory flashed to the photo of Dany and her infant face down in a pool of her own blood. Dany. Fuck. 

“What’s ‘bleed out’ mean?” Elenei looked up, her hands still covering her ears. 

Sansa shot a glance to Petyr who sighed with exasperation. “Well you might as well tell her she can uncover her ears.” 

Sansa was irritated to see that she didn’t have to. Elenei had heard him, and quickly removed her hands from her ears and asked, “Is Auntie Ygritte gonna be okay?” 

Robb ignored Elenei and took a step forward, “Sansa! You need to come home.”

“No.” It was Petyr that answered, ignoring Sansa’s questioning look. “She’s staying here. It’s safer.” 

Excitement fluttered in her belly. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her safe. Petyr was right, his place really was the safest place for her and the kids. Sansa turned to Robb and slowly nodded her head. “I’m staying.” 

She would have to send for Jon, and get that all figured out. ‘ _ A fucking mess’ _ had to have been an understatement. Jon loved Ygritte with everything he had. Sansa wouldn’t have been surprised to find him lying on the floor beside her, refusing to let her go.

“Are you kidding me, Sans?” Robb exclaimed. Apparently deciding not to wait for her to answer, he charged toward her and grabbed her arm in an attempt to drag her away. 

“Let her go,” Petyr warned. 

_ “Fuck you, Littlefinger!” _ Robb shouted. 

“Robb! Stop!” Sansa screamed, scared she’d lose her grip on Elenei and drop her. 

Her daughter’s fearful cry filled the air and anger took over. Sansa wrenched free of his hold and she barked, “Back off!” 

Robb squawked when the red-face man, Oswell, caught him. Sansa watched her brother pant in pain as his arm twisted behind his back. Petyr’s voice was as smooth and soft as velvet as he said, “I told you, Sansa’s staying here. It’s safer. As someone so concerned for her safety, you should be pleased by this.”

Elenei wiped a tear away as she scolded Robb, “Bad Uncle Robb. You’re mean.” 

Sansa wanted to tell her that it was more complicated than that. Robb was scared and misguided and was doing all he knew to do. That didn’t make his grabbing her, while she was holding her child, acceptable. 

“You just had to lay hands on her, didn’t you?” Petyr clucked his teeth.

“What the fuck?” Robb’s voice got higher as he started to hyperventilate in Oswell’s vice grip. 

Sansa didn’t fool herself into thinking that Petyr felt protective over her because he still loved her. She knew that while she still retained his last name, any offense against her was an offense against him. It was about appearances, and just how things were done, so it came as little surprise to her when Petyr said, “I can’t allow such disrespect to go unpunished.” 

Robb was a shit, but he was her brother. He’d always been fair weather, but he seemed to be really trying this time. It’s why she accepted his close counsel throughout the separation. She didn’t want to see him hurt, but knew that it would be less if done sooner rather than later. Elenei’s little voice chimed in, “You gotta listen to Mummy and Daddy.”

“Did you hear that, Robb? A four year old has more wits about her than you, right now.” Petyr ground his teeth and then glanced to Sansa. 

The look he gave her was loaded. It both imposed his need as well as asked permission. Sansa knew what was coming, and wouldn’t try to impede it. She looked back at Robb, seeing the way he squirmed in Oswell’s clutches, the sweat pouring from his hairline. She could still feel where he’d grabbed her arm, and knew fingerprints would bruise into her, reminding her of this moment for days to come. Brother or not, he’d gone too far when he compromised her hold on Elenei. “Sweetheart, look at Mummy.” 

Elenei looked up, big grey-blue eyes staring back into hers. Sansa smiled, “That’s it. Keep looking at Mummy. No matter what.” 

“Okay,” Elenei nodded her head. “I like staring contests.” 

Sansa gave her a half-hearted smile as she held her daughter’s gaze. She spoke to Petyr, though her words were barely above a whisper. “Do what you must.”

There were two snaps that followed: the snap of Petyr’s fingers, and the snap of Robb’s forearm. Sansa flinched at the sound and Elenei, completely unaware, laughed and exclaimed, “I won! Mummy closed her eyes!” 

Her excitement was drown out by Robb’s resulting scream. Elenei whipped around to see what was wrong and Petyr came up beside her and rubbed her back, “It seems Uncle Robb has had a little accident and broken his arm.” 

“Oh no. Poor mean Uncle Robb.” Elenei frowned and then suddenly brightened, “Do you think he’ll get a pretty cast I can draw on?” When no one answered, she raised her hand and vowed, “Promise not girly stuff.”

Sansa eyed Petyr, not sure what to feel. She’d allowed it, after all. Though, she wondered whether it would have mattered if she did or not. Petyr was so separate from her now, his look to her a courtesy. He may have done what he wanted regardless. It wasn’t as if Robb was a part of his family anymore; there would be no more incentive for him to play nice.

Elenei squirmed in her arms. “Can I get down?” 

“Oh, yes.” Just as Sansa set her down, she heard Durran’s cry off in the distance. She didn’t bother looking at Petyr as she said, “I’ll get him.” 

She’d taken a couple of steps, when something strange struck her out of nowhere. “Robb?” 

He glared back at her. 

“Was Ygritte face up? Or face down?” Sansa asked, remembering all the details of the photo. 

“Fuck you!” He shouted. 

“Now, Robb, it’s hard to wipe your ass with two broken arms.” Petyr snickered. 

Sansa shuddered at the pleasure he was taking in taunting him. It was all much more personal than she would have preferred, but she guessed that made sense. Robb hadn’t hidden his disdain for Petyr in any of the encounters they’d had over the past few weeks.

“What does it fucking matter?!” Robb growled. 

“Do you not remember?” Sansa asked. 

“Up! She was fucking face up!” 

Sansa shook her head. No. That was wrong. Dany was face down. Petyr eyed her, “What’s the significance?” 

“Where’s my phone?” She asked, ignoring his question. 

Petyr handed it to her, furrowing his brow. “What aren’t you saying?” 

She could feel her pulse in her ears as she unlocked her phone, her fingers trembling as she did. “What is it, Mumma?” Elenei asked from below her waist. Durran’s cries persistent in the background. Sansa’s thumb landed on Cersei’s icon, and she brought the phone up to her ear cautiously. 

It rang twice and then Cersei answered, “This really just goes to show you, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” There was an audible sigh before she reasoned, “To their credit, though, I said  _ redhead _ , and they did kill a redhead.”

Sansa let the air escape her lungs as Cersei continued, “Wrong one, obviously. But, I guess I should be glad you’re not dead. It didn’t seem right for you to die by anyone else’s hand. It was hasty of me to give the order. I should have been more patient, waited til we were alone together. Now you’re going to be so much more guarded. That’s okay, I’m up for a challenge.”

It was as if she’d been cracked with a baseball bat. Sansa reeled back, clutching her chest as she listened to the smile in Cersei’s voice. “Did you at least appreciate that it was a stab or two to the heart? It was Dany’s idea, said it had some meaning between the two of you, but I felt like it fit us too.” 

“Why?” Sansa weezed. 

Cersei sighed, her voice faltering as she said, “I could ask you the same question.”  

Sansa shook her head, barely aware of Petyr watching her. She gasped, “ _ No. _ ”

“They were my boys. My babies.” Cersei sniffed, “And you will pay.” 

“No, Cers! I--”

The phone hung up before she could get all the words out. Sansa looked around at all the eyes staring back at her and lifted her head up to the ceiling, trying to escape them. She’d fantasized a thousand times that she’d returned home to find everything fine again. Now she really was back, and it was no dream, but everything was far from alright. 

 

 

 


	14. Depression: Business Associates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If she was going to scorch their common ground, then he would salt that same earth.

Since his and Sansa’s separation, Petyr was becoming soured to all Starks. Either they outright opposed him, like Robb, or they stood silently by her side like Arya. He had to chuckle at that, being that Arya was hardly ever silent a day in her life, yet suddenly her lips were sealed in cement as she supported her sister. Jon’s distance could be forgiven, firmly rooted in his devotion to both Sansa and Ygritte. Neither woman approved of an association with him. 

Petyr shouldn’t have expected any less. Of course Sansa would have her wolfpack to surround her. Only Bran, the jackal of the bunch, reached out to him. He called from his hospital bed to whisper words of encouragement and promise that he didn’t place any blame or ownership of the accident on anyone but himself. Petyr would have liked to take that easy out, had he never conversed with Rickon and had his responsibility quite clearly explained. He would have also preferred to feel the same hope for himself and Sansa that Bran seemed to. The young Stark boasted proudly that Meera had threatened divorce upwards of eight times since his waking, and she’d yet to produce a paper, or leave his side longer than a few hours. Sansa was not Meera and neither was Petyr, Bran. Their situation was completely different, and entirely  _ finished _ .

After their last counseling session, Petyr expected a certain degree of pain and had been prepared to forgive her for it. The way in which she chose to wound him, however, was too much. Whatever their issues were over the years, they’d still aligned on so many things. Was she so immature, so riddiculously fucking childish that she couldn’t see that? 

No. 

She wouldn’t have held up the condom and decimated everything if she hadn’t known what it meant. It was in that moment, and that moment alone, that Petyr lost all capacity to forgive. 

The GHB had been his insurance policy. He’d insisted upon it so that he may take the reins. He’d planned to clean her up and put her to bed, much like a parent would a tantruming toddler. After she’d struck that particular chord, his motives grew more retaliatory. He wanted her knocked out and helpless, all the strength sapped from her. Her lips would numb and stop, no more hateful words spewed to further erode his heart.

Unfortunately, things didn’t improve when she came to. Her honesty was gut-wrenching, making him want nothing more than to bludgeon her with an equal authenticity. If she was going to scorch their common ground, then he would salt that same earth. Petyr told her that it was over and he was serious when he said it. As Brune lead the way down the hall, however, the anger that had empowered him, was fast fading at the realization that Sansa was leaving again. As much as he wanted to throw her away, he couldn’t let her to go. He’d walked his home a thousand times without her in it, lamenting over it’s emptiness. Sending her away was counterintuitive, and he couldn’t believe he was doing it. 

Robb crashing in and grabbing Sansa was the perfect opportunity for Petyr, in so many ways. The news he brought ensured she’d stay put, and the way he grabbed her without any concern for Elenei, was just the excuse needed to teach him a lesson in respect. Petyr only glanced to Sansa out of courtesy, having already decided to do as he wished regardless. Needless to say, he was stunned to see her approve.

As suspected, the audio taps confirmed she’d faced some family flack for it. Robb wasn’t a favorite among the pack, but he was still one of their own. Arya wasn’t known for her staunch belief in respect. Having only worked freelance for Bronn, she’d not seen how vital it was in the operation of things. She didn’t understand, and though she disliked Robb, she disliked Sansa’s lack of protection over him even more. Oddly enough, Petyr seemed to escape any blame in her reprimands to Sansa. Perhaps she thought him too far gone in the world of crime to be held accountable. 

Jon was too sullen to comment, and Bran on too thin of ice. Rickon used his good standing to make his feelings known. Like Arya, he didn’t value respect, only a sense of duty to family. He scorned Sansa for allowing their brother be injured. Petyr was pleasantly surprised to hear his protests were short-lived. Sansa had snapped back, asking if he thought she should have allowed her daughter injured instead, reminding him again of the compromising position Robb put her in. Rickon was a sweet kid, but extremely naive to how things ran. It couldn’t be held against him.

Petyr placed his arm on the window and leaned in, resting his forehead on it. Robb had been buzzing in her ear for weeks as her advisor, and when she needed to choose between Petyr’s rule and Robb’s frenzy, she fell right into place. 

It felt phenomenal. 

Petyr rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip as he watched her through the glass. She was scurrying across the backyard with a plate of food again. Jon had locked himself in the pool house to sit in a puddle of his own tears surrounded by boxes of Ygritte’s things.

The man was ripped open and Petyr would have pitied him, had he not already felt similarly. At least Ygritte died. Sansa was still alive, the other half of his heart walking around in the world. Petyr closed his eyes and breathed, barely hearing the murmur in his ear. Fuck her. He’d come too far in life for this sort of rejection. 

Except that she didn’t reject him. Not at the end, in the final hour. And seriously, fuck her for that. For telling him that she enjoyed loving him all those years, after dealing him such a killing blow the night before. Why couldn’t she just have lied?

It was in that same particular line of reasoning that Petyr ordered Oswell to detain her, much like he had her brother, after she attempted to leave. She glared at him, and spat out, “What the hell?” 

“I decided that you’d stay for your own safety.” He inhaled, tonguing the inside of his cheek. “It was my understanding that you saw the benefit in that, and were in agreement.”

“Jon! I have to get Jon!” She exclaimed. 

Understanding did not come as easily as resentment, infuriating Petyr to see such allegiance to anyone other than him. “Your family is not my problem anymore.” 

She blinked back at him, any struggle she’d been giving Oswell ceased. He knew he hurt her from the bewildered look in her eyes. As quickly as she’d revealed such weakness, she hid it again behind a shield of detached brutality as she explained, “Jon’s useful. The Lannisters just declared war. It’s in our best interests to have all available muscle on hand.” 

He admired how quickly she shifted gears, moving from her own need to keep Jon close by, to whatever reason she thought he’d accept. “Brune will retrieve him.” 

She shook her head, “No. He won’t come for him.” 

“If he wants to live he will,” Petyr pursed his lips. “That house is compromised. He won’t be safe there for long. He must know that.”

“You’re assuming he cares,” Sansa growled and futally wrestled some more in Oswell’s grasp. “I’m not sure he’s up for living at the moment.”

Petyr shrugged, “Your boy’s temperament is also not my problem.” 

She glanced to Oswell and then back at him. “You can have your  _ boy _ hold me for as long as you want, but know this: I will do whatever I need to get to Jon,” she promised. 

He wanted to see her try, watch her attempt to shrug off his authority and do as she wished. In the end he was amenable to her wishes, realizing how useful it would be to keep her occupied if they would be sharing the same roof again. Jon would be a good pet project to keep her at arms length. It was a strange feeling to want her near, and yet as far away as possible. 

“It sounds like you’re depressed,” Davos’ voice interrupted his thoughts. 

Petyr scoffed into the phone as he stared at the pool house. “I don’t get depressed.” 

“That’s right, the great Petyr Baelish is so far above the human condition that the word sad isn’t even in his vocabulary.” Davos snarked.

“Careful now, doc,” Petyr warned. “It’s not that I don’t ever feel sad; it’s just that anger comes more readily.” 

“Depression in men is commonly expressed as anger,” Davos furthered his point. 

Petyr laughed, “She put me in this position. It’s not in my head. She’s the one who pushed and pushed.” 

Davos cleared his throat before he added, “It’s also typical in depression, for an individual to have an external locus of control.” 

Petyr considered the words, reasoning what they meant before he answered defensively, “I control my life. Not some outside force.”  _ No matter how gorgeous she is _ , he thought to himself.

“Yet you just blamed your own feelings on Sansa. You’re scapegoating her, and not facing your own part in things.” 

“I apologized,” Petyr huffed. 

“Mm, and perhaps that’s why you’re depressed.” Davos took an audible sip of his drink. “You said the magic words, _ I’m sorry _ , and things still aren’t all better.” 

“By my choice,” Petyr asserted. “ _ I  _ ended things.” 

“So you said,” Davos dismissed. “I find it interesting that you two had such a truthful moment together and rather than having the courage to see where it went, you shut it down quickly. You decided before she could, that it was over.” 

“Are you calling me a coward?” Petyr laughed. 

“No.  _ Controlling _ ,” Davos corrected. “Though, that’s to be expected in your line of work.”

Petyr smiled into the phone. “And here I thought I had an ‘external locus of control’?” 

Davos paused before he answered carefully, “I know it assauges your ego to best others in conversation, but what else does it do for you?”

With Sansa, all it did was push her further away. In fact, the closest he’d felt to her was when they’d both cut the bullshit and stopped worrying about winning. It was okay that his snark distanced his rivals; it reminded them of their place. Davos wasn’t a rival. Petyr decided he would give him that round and changed the subject. “You said that you also offer divorce counseling.” 

He turned away from the window when he heard Elenei skipping down the hall towards his office. Davos responded, “Yes. It focuses on respectful communication to assist couples in getting through the legal proceedings more amicably.” 

“Mm,” Petyr answered as Elenei rounded the corner, bursting through his door. 

“Daddy!” 

He barely heard Davos ask, “Is that what you want, Petyr?”

“Daddy! Uncle Jon’s really sad,” Elenei exclaimed. 

Petyr frowned at Elenei and pointed at the phone. Davos’ voice sounded through the ear piece, “I think it speaks to a certain level of loyalty that Sansa allowed you to punish her brother.” 

Petyr’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“Oops!” Elenei covered her face, her dimples still visible. “Sorry!”

Petyr nodded at her and then hissed into the phone, “I didn’t tell you that.”

“Didn’t you?” There was a noticeable discomfort in Davos’ voice. “I’m sure you did.”

Petyr’s eyebrows rose. “Did  _ she _ ?” 

The white noise of silence followed his question, and Petyr knew she must have. “Is she seeing you for counseling?”

Davos paused again and then sighed, “I can’t talk about other clients.”

A small disbelieving smirk dimpled Petyr’s cheeks. Sansa was under no obligation to continue to see Davos, being that their relationship had dissolved. What business did she have with him? She’d always so staunchly opposed counseling. Petyr didn’t imagine she’d ever speak to Davos again without the threat of force. 

Elenei gave an exasperated sigh and then crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Petyr found her frustration amusing and tried not to laugh as he spoke into the phone. “I have another matter to attend to at the moment. I’ll be in touch.” 

He’d barely pulled the phone from his ear when excitement bloomed in Elenei again and she exclaimed, “Mumma’s eating dinner with us tonight!” 

“Is she?” Petyr asked, pretending that this news actually warranted ending his conversation with Davos for. To Elenei, it probably was. Sansa had been back in the estate for two days and they’d scarcely seen each other. 

“Yes, she is!” Elenei smiled. “Uncle Jon’s so sad, Mummy keeps not eating to be with him.” Petyr had noticed she looked a bit thinner. Though, two days of missed meals wouldn’t have had that much of an effect overall. He remembered her naked form as she paced furiously back and forth in his bedroom. Sansa had always been well defined, but there was surely a limit to how much definition a rib cage required.

“She’s gonna make him all better,” Elenei enthused. 

Petyr wondered if Sansa would have played the part of nursemaid so vigilantly, if it were him that was hurt. She was glued to her cousin, looking just as much a trainwreck as he, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her face pale and hair loosely held back in a messy bun. She left his side only to get more provisions. Sansa was proving to be quite the caretaker. 

In Davos’ office she threw back in his face how little she appreciated caring for him, only to go back on that and tell him that she actually took pleasure in it. He would wonder which was the lie if seven years together hadn’t proven the truth. She’s stayed by his side in the beginning of their marriage, nursing him back to health. She was sweet and kind throughout. If she was ever frustrated, it was only when his male pride took issue with the fact that she was exposed to the gritty realities of a bedridden husband so entrenched in the newlywed stage. Conversely, she didn’t bat an eyelash over the situation; it was only when he grew upset that she met his fire with her own. 

Fuck. He knew she’d be just as dedicated to his recovery if he were as incapacitated. This petty jealousy served no purpose. She wasn’t the woman for him to turn to anymore. He, himself, had declared that. If only they’d told the truth to one another sooner. 

“That’s good,” Petyr answered evenly, remembering the daughter in front of him. 

Elenei nodded her head. “Uh-huh. Mumma said it just takes some time to get over the sad that Uncle Jon has. But she’s gonna take a break to have dinner with us!” 

Take a break? Anger inflamed him again as he thought,  _ How very fucking charitable of her to grace us with her presence. _

He reminded himself not to allow his ego to bruise so easily. Of course Elenei would expect that they would share meals together as a family. She didn’t know what was going on. How could she? He didn’t even know. Petyr looked into his daughter’s grey-blue eyes, framed by the inky black locks that fell over her shoulders. He would have to tell her something, but what? 

How about:  _ Your mother’s a lying whore and your father’s a spineless prick who kissed her feet for too long. _ He bit back a smirk at his own poisonous thought and tried again more seriously,  _ Your father was clueless to what his wife needed, and your mother was too proud to tell him. _ He swallowed as he considered,  _ Daddy’s heart’s broken and Mum holds a grudge. _ Was her heart broken too? He had thought so, for only just a second. It looked like panic in her eyes, and he wondered if it was the hysteria of a heart in pieces. Before he could investigate, she blinked away the emotion and started talking about Cersei. As if Cersei Lannister mattered at all in that heartbeat. 

Petyr sighed deeply and decided,  _ I’m so sorry, Princess. Mum and I are terrible people who failed to communicate quick enough to salvage anything. But we both at least agree on just how much we love you. _ Elenei’s long lashes fluttered as she stared impatiently at him, and he knew she’d never understand that. “That’s great.” 

Elenei gave him a big hug and he held her a little longer than normal, feeling the comfort of her unconditional love. As his daughter, no matter what happened in life, on some level she would always love him. He gave her another firm squeeze and kissed her cheek as he silently vowed that he would always show her the same loyalty, if not more so. If anyone dared to harm or even upset his little girl, there would be no end to the agony they’d endure.

As he set her down, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out quickly to see who it was. He’d told Varys not to bother speaking to him until he’d found a way into the Mormont camp. It was doubtful that Varys could have found a chink in the armor so quickly, but Petyr was still quick to check his caller ID just in case. It was not him, but another message he’d been anticipating, regardless. 

Shae.  _ Thirty minutes, you name the place. _

Petyr typed in an address and then looked up at Elenei still standing there. “Daddy’s gotta go.”

“What about dinner?” She asked with a pout on her lips. 

“I know. But Daddy’s gotta work.” Petyr kissed the top of her head and made a beeline for the door so he wouldn’t have to further face her disappointment.

Where he very much enjoyed the idea of being able to sit down as a family, if for nothing else than old time’s sake, he still knew it would be forced and awkward. He’d probably spend the entire time glaring at Sansa, willing her to eat something, and hating her for making him care at all either way.

Meeting Shae was not only deemed less frustrating, but also more important. It was a way into the Lannisters, something they desperately needed. It didn’t take long to reach the destination he gave her, and he spent the excess time organizing his thoughts while he waited. He had to get the red headed siren he’d fathered children with out of his head, lest he be smashed against the rocks while he tried to conduct business. 

Petyr got out of his car the minute he watched Shae pull in. She had no one protecting her and he held his hand up to keep Brune in the car in a show of no ill will. Her smile was loaded as she said, “Long time, no call.” 

“I haven’t had cause.” Petyr shrugged, offering her a crafted smile.

She dipped her head. “And you do now?” 

Petyr eyed her up and down. There was something different about her, though he couldn’t place it right away. “I’m certain with the company you keep, you’re aware of the great divide in the city.”

“With the ‘company I keep?’ You could just say what you mean,” she laughed. “You want me to turn on Tyrion.”

“You did once say that you separate business from pleasure.” Petyr gave a doubting smirk. “Unless you are saying that things have changed.” 

Indignation flared in her eyes. “Nothing’s changed,” she insisted. 

Petyr smiled. “Perfect. I want all the codes.” 

“Codes?” 

“Security codes to Tyrion’s apartments, bank accounts, whatever you can give me.” Petyr waved his hand as if the request was not as large as it was. 

Shae frowned. “And what would you do with them?” 

“Would it matter?” Petyr’s lips thinned. “A job is a job, isn’t it?” 

“I’m not sure I want him killed,” she sighed. “I’ve rather enjoyed fucking him for the past four years.” 

Petyr sighed, “No you haven’t. And if you have, you’ll still take the money over him and his safety.”

“You’re so sure?” She lifted her chin defiantly. 

“Sure enough to approach you in the first place,” Petyr stated the obvious. Then he reminded her, “You’re for hire. You have no loyalties.” 

Shae stared back at him, weighing his words, deciding what she agreed with and what she didn’t. He knew she was calculating her next move, and the moment he realized that, he was certain he had her. People only ever took such care in measuring things when money was on the line. People like her, anyway. She’d appeared loyal to Sansa when he’d met her, but years of watching her work only proved her true motives. “It will cost you.” 

“I expect it will.” 

“More than you think,” she insisted. 

Petyr eyed her curiously, waiting for an explanation. She raised her hand, to better flash the expensive diamond she wore on her ring-finger. “You’re not just paying me to get you some codes. You’re also paying me to dissolve an engagement.” 

“Engagement?” Petyr laughed. “Seriously?” 

She scowled at him. “ _ He _ was serious.” She was obviously referring to Tyrion and the heart he kept on his sleeve for her. “And, I was at least having fun. Many marriages are based on less than that.” 

He tried not to roll his eyes. 

“How is your marriage, by the way?” she antagonized him. 

He wouldn’t allow his irritation to show. “Did you not hear? Sansa’s moved back in. You must not be included in the Lannister group text. Perhaps hiring you wasn’t the wisest choice after all.”

The amusement left her expression. “Give me a number.” 

Petyr low-balled her because he was in the mood to insult. “Fifty.”

“Ha!” she laughed, “That’s how much the wedding you’re taking from me would cost. Try again.” 

He’d been prepared to offer five hundred but enjoyed dickering. “Alright. One hundred.”

“Triple it,” she barked. 

Petyr dug his fingernails into his palm to keep from laughing. He offered his best martyred expression as he groaned, “Fine.”

She sneered. “It will take a couple of days. Tyrion’s not an easy one to snow.” Shae had gotten in her car before he could say anything in reply and Petyr couldn’t have been more thankful for it, needing the opportunity to laugh unabashed at her gullibility.

His ride home was as long as his ride to meet her, but it somehow felt quicker. Dinner would just be finishing and he wondered if he might be able to slip in one of the many side entrances of his home to avoid both of the females in his life. He had no idea what Sansa’s response would be to his absence, but he knew Elenei would still be cross with him. She would give him quite the fish pout and a stompy foot to boot.

He had successfully managed to evade the kitchen and head straight for his office when Sansa appeared in the hallway. Her arms crossed as she whispered, “Where have you been?” 

“That’s really none of your concern.” He took joy in her expression as he shucked his blazer off.

She rallied herself and insisted, “Yes it is. If it was for work, like you told Elenei, then it is my business.” 

“How so?” He was curious to see what strange entitlement her brain had cooked up. 

“You said we were business partners.” 

“No.” Petyr raised his finger, smiling condescendingly. “I said we were business  _ associates _ .”

“The difference?” 

“Is vast.” He poured himself a drink and forced himself not to offer her one. She looked awful standing before him, her eyes black and sunken in, her clothes hanging off her. One would have thought she loved Ygritte as much as Jon did with how affected she was. Sansa only tolerated the woman for Jon, and likewise was only as emotionally ravaged as she was, on his behalf. There was no end to how much Petyr hated that. “Is Jon okay without you doting over him?”

He instantly regretted saying it, showing her his hand. Luckily, she either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. “Explain this vast difference.” 

“I don’t tell partners everything, so I definitely wouldn’t share all my secrets with someone I merely  _ associate  _ with.” His tone betrayed him, he was sure of it. She had to have known how hurt he was. 

She looked past the inflection in his voice and asked, “Would you be interested in a partnership?” 

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “With  _ you _ ?” 

“Is it really such an amusing prospect?” She straightened, a fire lighting behind her eyes.

“Yes.” He gestured to her. “Look at the state of you. What could you possibly have that would interest me?” 

She stood silent. 

“Don’t say the kids, because that’s personal. From a business standpoint, you’ve got nothing to offer me.” As he belittled her, he let his eyes fall from her face and land on her chest. He couldn’t help but notice, she’d forgone a bra, her nipples standing out against the ratty oversized t-shirt. It was no cooler in the room than when they’d first walked in, leaving him to wonder if she was turned on by his abrasiveness. It wouldn’t be that surprising; Sansa was usually aroused when she was angry. It was another thing they had in common. 

Petyr pushed that thought away as he dragged his gaze back up to her face. “In fact, you and your beloved cousin are nothing more than a drain on my resources at the moment.” 

“You know we make better allies than enemies.” Her voice was horse and he was certain he saw a tear in her eye. As quickly as he saw it, it was gone. “Name your terms.”

“Terms?” Petyr cocked a brow at her. 

She nodded. “I’m proposing partnership, you doubt I have anything to offer the relationship-- _ business _ relationship,” she quickly corrected. 

“Mm.” Petyr rubbed the pads of his fingers against the palm of his hand, waiting to see where she would take this. 

“You know I have the numbers.” 

She was referring to the families that had sided with her in their separation. Petyr knew she was right; she had much more muscle than him. They were also far less loyal. “Some. You have some numbers.”

Sansa chuckled, “More than some.” 

“Not by my count,” Petyr insisted, as he took a sip of his drink.

“Then buy a calculator,” she gibed. 

Petyr snickered as he walked around to the other side of his desk and took a seat, feeling the leather hug around him. “Did you have men watching your home at Kingsroad?” he asked, knowing she did.

“Of course.”

“Then  _ somebody _ had to have let the Lannisters in to murder the only redhead home,” Petyr stated the obvious. She would have realized this if she wasn’t so wrapped up in Jon.

She stood stunned and he knew his words had sunken in when her mouth opened a little. Were they still together, he would have wrapped her up in his arms and promised to find her traitor and send his guts back to his family in a box. But they weren’t together anymore. He couldn’t take on her problems. His only responsibility lay with her life, and that was only for the sake of the children. Firm in his resolve, he hardened his voice and told her as much, “You want to play partner, but you’re not even managing your own territory. Someone double-crossed you, your trusted right is a sobbing mess on the floor of my pool house, and you yourself have taken safe harbor in my home. You’re not a partner, Sansa.” His jaw tightened as he steeled himself for the blow he needed to deal. “You’re a charity case.” 

The pregnant silence that followed was too much. Any normal person would have turned tail and ran away, but not Sansa. She stood there, staring back at him, not saying a word. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or sad. The only thing he knew without question was how severely his words had impacted her.

Just when he didn’t think he could bear her gaze a moment longer, she opened her mouth to speak. “Meet me in the garage tomorrow evening.” 

“What?” he asked, incredulously. Her statement seemed so random. 

“After the kids go to bed, meet me in the garage.” She turned on her heel and left his office.

He had considered disregarding her, thinking of all the other places he could be instead of his own garage awkwardly awaiting an explanation for her ridiculous request. Well, it wasn’t so much a request, more of a demand, really. 

It was the silence that brought him there, however. That indecipherable time that didn’t seem to have an end. What had been in her head? It should have bothered him more, how easily she caught and kept his attention. His words were harsh, but that didn’t make them any less true. From a strictly business standpoint, Sansa shouldn’t have garnered as much of his attention as she did. He could have charged her rent for how much she occupied his mind. 

When he went to tuck Elenei in, she told him that Sansa had already come and gone, reading her a story and kissing her cheek good night. Petyr asked which one and Elenei grinned, pointing to her right cheek. He then kissed her left and pulled the blanket up under her chin. Durran was already sleeping when he came in and ran his palm over his baby-soft forehead. Sansa had allowed him his pacifier when she put him down, and now that he was sleeping, Petyr gently tugged it free and placed it beside him. In just a couple of months he and Sansa would have to “misplace” it, breaking him free of it for good. Elenei had been weaned from her pacifier at eleven months, and it made sense to maintain the same standard for Durran as well. 

Petyr paced by the door to the garage a couple of times, his mind traveling many different trains of thought. What business would Sansa have in his garage? Her beloved Jon wasn’t crying in a convertible. Perhaps she wanted to express her frustration by vandalizing one of his vehicles? Petyr had no intention of humoring her by showing up, only to watch her take out a grill or two. 

Imagine his surprise when he opened the door to see Varys standing on the other side. “You’ve finished the job I assigned?” 

“Yes,” Varys was quick to reply. “And I am pleased to discuss it with you,  _ after _ .” 

“After?” Curiosity was killing him. 

Sansa’s voice sounded from behind Varys, “Please, come in.”

Varys stepped aside, revealing more than just Sansa. There were five chairs set up in the garage in total. Four were filled, and she patted the empty one beside her for him to sit. It was with no little amount of hesitation that he did, quickly realizing who sat in the three seats across from them.

Rickard Karstark, head to the Karstark family. Smalljon Umber, head to the Umber family. And, of course, Wyman Manderly. Petyr wondered if perhaps Sansa had to slide two chairs together to make a suitable seat for Wyman. His obesity had gone past shameful and became some bizarre badge of pride for the man. 

Sansa’s hand reached into his lap, distracting him from his thoughts. Her grip was warm and firm on his thigh. He could barely stifle a shiver at such unexpected contact, or the kindness in her smile to the men before her. “Petyr and I appreciate the concern you men seem to have for not only my welfare, but also our marriage.”

Petyr’s gaze darted between Sansa and the men she’d aligned with during their separation.  _ What was she playing at?  _

“Concern for who we’re working with, more like.” Manderly brought it down to brass tacks as only he was prone to do. 

“It seemed quite clear until the attack on Kingsroad,” Karstark added. He nodded towards her hand. “Though, it’s looking obvious now. You’ve crawled back in Baelish’s bed.”

_ Far from _ , Petyr grimaced before he glanced over to Umber, noting his silence. Sansa didn’t seem to miss that either. She did not respond to either Manderly or Karstark as she goaded, “No comment Smalljon?”

“Why say what’s already out on the table?” Umber shrugged, his face gleamed with a grin Petyr didn’t appreciate. 

“You always were a coward,” Sansa sighed and let go of Petyr’s leg. It was cold where her hand had been, and Petyr almost missed her casual gesture to Umber. Within the blink of an eye, Oswell and Brune flanked him, a thick rope flew over his head and caught him across the chest. Brune pulled it hard, knotting it in the back, while Oswell wrapped another rope around his legs.

Umber’s men pulled their guns too late. Petyr listened as muted shots were fired from the other side of the garage. Both men dropped lifelessly to their knees.  

Manderly and Karstark men rushed forward, drawing their guns. Bronn came out of the shadows with a toothy grin. He tucked his piece back under his arm. “Easy boys. I’m not here for you. She only paid for two and the trunk’s full as it is.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Manderly boomed. 

Bronn crouched down and started tugging one of the bodies back out of sight. “Jesus, he’s heavy. You sure this one’s an Umber? Maybe I tagged a Manderly by accident?” 

Petyr stifled a laugh, somewhat caring less that he had no idea what was going on. 

Sansa ignored Bronn and rose from her seat. She flashed Petyr a mischievous grin that silently encouraged him to enjoy the show. “Someone betrayed me. Let the lions in my den.” 

Karstark jumped out of his chair. “And you would assume it’s my family?” 

Manderly was slow to rise, requiring the assistance of one of his men. His face was red with exertion as he added, “This is insulting and does not bode well for our partnership.” 

“You fuckin’ rotten cunt! Let me go!” Umber hissed from his seat. 

Petyr felt the odd urge to defend her. It was one thing for him to call her every awful thing that popped into his head, but that didn’t mean someone else doing so sat right with him. Sansa raised her hand and Brune socked Umber in the mouth to silence him. Bronn laughed from the back of the garage as he dragged the second body on the floor. “Women hate it when you call them that.” 

A tooth came loose and much to Petyr’s pleasure, blood poured from Smalljon’s lips. Sansa then turned to the other men. “I called you both here so that I could sniff out my traitor in front of you. I thought it best to include the both of you so that you would know the danger the Umber family put your men in. I wanted to give you the opportunity to pay them in kind should you wish.” 

“What are you talking about, danger?” Karstark asked, slower than Manderly who only smiled back. 

Sansa shrugged. “Did you not both station a man at my door in good faith? If neither of you were in on this betrayal, Umber placed your men in danger, allowing a Lannister in without them aware enough to stand aside.” 

“Yeesh.” Bronn shook his head, interjecting again, “That’s the worst. You’re watching the door in front of you and the guy behind you is opening the back door. I’ve been on those details before. Never ends well.”

Petyr remembered hearing the Karstark man had sustained some injuries, though he wasn’t sure about Manderly’s man. Sansa reached for Wyman’s hand. “You’ve always been loyal. There is no room to question you. And I regret that your wife’s nephew was stabbed twice in the back during the attack on my home.” 

“My man was attacked too!” Umber bellowed from his restraints. 

Sansa laughed, “How convenient.” 

The lyrics to Cat’s Cradle blared from Bronn’s pocket and he apologized, silencing it quickly. “Sorry. It was just Punky.” 

“She alright?” Sansa glanced his way. 

Bronn nodded. “Yes, just wants me to pick up some fried pickle chips on my way home. Pregnancy cravings, you know.” 

“Great. Are you done here?” Sansa asked, irritation knitting her brows together.

He grinned. “That’s more your call than mine. It being your dime and all.” 

Sansa nodded. “Then, thank you. I’ll have the money transferred within the next few hours.”  

Bronn tipped his head to her and then turned to nod to Petyr too. “Goodnight Baelishes.” He was just to the door when he turned and frowned. “Give Johnny Boy my condolences.” 

Sansa waited till he was gone before she turned all her attention back to Karstark. Petyr watched her reach for his hand. “We are blood, far back--”

“And quite removed,” Rickard added quickly with a scowl. He was obviously suspicious of her, and why wouldn’t he be? She’d just seized Umber and had a hired hitman kill and dispose of his bodyguards right in front of them. 

Nonplussed, Sansa continued, “Blood does not betray blood. Like Manderly, I called you here to see the traitor who put your second cousin in the hospital.” 

“This is complete and utter bullshit!” Umber thrashed in his chair. 

Sansa glanced back at Petyr and turned to both men again. “In regards to my relationship with Petyr, I don’t need to _ fuck  _ someone to work with them.” There was a ferocity to her that startled even him. She then leaned in with a catlike smile and added, “As you both well know.” 

Manderly smirked and Karstark’s grimace grew somewhat smaller. Petyr remained silent, watching her as she nodded towards him. “The north and the east are allied. That is all you need to know. Not whose dick I ride in my free time.” 

“Baelish?” Wyman asked. 

Any attempt Petyr made to hide his grin, was in vain, only serving to lessen it some. He nodded once, seeing no point in disagreeing with her. After all, she’d definitely sniffed out her traitor and was fortifying her place with the other families. He could have sworn he saw a genuine smile crack under the false one she wore. 

“Satisfied?” Sansa asked. 

When neither Karstark or Manderly said otherwise, she smiled cordially. “ _ Excellent _ . Now, Smalljon is mine.” 

Karstark’s brow furrowed. “No. He’s committed an offense against my family.” 

“Mine as well. He must pay,” Manderly added. 

Sansa took a vicious step forward and barked, “And he  _ killed _ a member of mine!” 

This wasn’t about familial connection, so much as it was respect. Sansa was a boss taking it from them, whether they willed it or not. Composing herself, she took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over her skirt. Though there was still an edge to her voice, her volume had lowered considerably. “I will repeat myself only once: Smalljon is  _ mine _ .”

Karstark turned bloodthirsty. “Why reveal this traitor, if you won’t allow us revenge?” 

Sansa closed her eyes in a clear sign of frustration over the stupidity of the question. “I never said his family was off limits.” She opened her eyes, dilated with the pleasure of vengeance. “Maim or murder whoever you feel evens the score. I have no more use for Umbers.” She glanced over to Smalljon. “Only that one.” 

“Fuck you, you stupid cunt bitch! Why doesn’t someone smack that whore and tell her to get back in the kitchen so the men can talk?” Umber spat blood through his hollering. 

Petyr chuckled and Sansa eyed him. He gave her a look of feigned innocence before returning his gaze to Manderly and Karstark. Sansa addressed them again, “I appreciate your participation in tonight’s exercise and I look forward to reading about many Umber deaths in the paper. You may leave.” 

Both men remained, not used to being dismissed. Particularly not by a woman.  _ Welcome to the club _ , Petyr thought to himself. 

They must have seen that their role was played out, and there was nothing left for them to do, because their hesitation didn’t last. Both men left with the information they’d just learned, minds set to murder. Petyr turned to Sansa and before he could say a word, she whirled away from him.

He clapped his hands slowly and with no little amount of condescension. Their current relationship status prohibited him from showering her with praise, so he forced his tone to one of mild disinterest as he acknowledged, “ _ Bravo _ .” 

Sansa shook her head. “I’m not done yet.” 

She wasn’t? What more was there to do? 

“Varys,” she called, not looking up from the tool boxes that lined the wall of the garage. Petyr wasn’t handy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the value of keeping tools available for the members of staff that were. 

When Petyr turned to look at Varys, he only caught sight of the back of his head as he flew through the doorway. “Where’s he going?” 

“You’ll see.” Sansa shifted things around. 

“Let me go!” Umber bellowed before turning to Petyr. “Get your bitch under control!”

“Easier said than done,” Petyr admitted, only because he was certain Smalljon was headed for the afterlife.

Sansa chuckled and then held up a pair of tin snips. They were sharp heavy duty shears meant to cut through metal. “I once heard a story.” 

Petyr wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Smalljon, so he held his tongue. The night had taken such an unexpected turn that he’d scarcely had a chance to really see her. She looked much better, stronger than the days before. While she wasn’t in her usual tight dresses and high heels, she appeared decidedly less worn out than she’d looked before. Her hair was washed and brushed, a bright fiery mane tamed back into a ponytail that caught the flourescent light of the garage. While she still looked too thin, there was at least color in her lips and cheeks. She’d come to life as she approached Umber. “I heard that your father lost his fingers to a Stark.” 

Umber glared back at her. 

Sansa drew circles on the back of his hand with her finger, her smile dripping with malice. “It’s true, isn’t it?” 

Umber grunted. 

“You know which Stark did it.” She wasn’t asking a question. The wheels started spinning in Petyr’s head. What was she talking about? Greatjon had lost his fingers and rumor had it, that good ol’ Ned sicced one of his prized wolves on him. That being said, Petyr had always doubted the validity of the story. Wolves couldn’t be trained. Sansa knew that more than anyone. 

“They say one of your bitches did it,” Smalljon sneered. “Your daddy got angry and sent the wolves after my father.” 

Sansa chuckled and stopped drawing circles on his hand to pry and spread his fingers apart. “They do say that, don’t they?”

Umber inhaled sharply. Sansa’s voice turned sing-song as she toyed with him. “I know better, though. Would you like to know what I know?”

Petyr definitely did. Information was delicious, and the smug way in which Sansa teased the man, told him that this particular bit of knowledge would be worth hearing. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Varys approach with Jon at his side. They remained in the shadows, silent witnesses to Sansa’s display. 

She placed Umber’s middle finger in the tin snips and grinned. “I was fourteen when my parents were murdered. But my brother Robb was eighteen. He’d had more time with them to try to prove himself to my father before they were killed.” Sansa adjusted the shears on his finger, tightening them. “Your father had quite the mouth on him, it’s true. To shut him up, and show he was ready for more responsibility, Robb cut his fingers off with a pair of clippers like these.”

Sweat drenched Smalljon’s hair as he breathed heavily. “You don’t have the fucking sack!” 

Sansa cackled, “Oh Smalljon, you have no idea the things I’m capable of.” 

The resulting scream pierced Petyr’s ears as he watched blood spray a good three feet ahead of him on the floor. Sansa had to use both hands to cut through his flesh and bone, gritting her teeth with the force needed. She’d managed to sever his finger all by herself, without any help. Petyr felt his heart swell in pride at her accomplishment, however gruesome.

When the noise died down, Sansa moved to his next finger, letting it sit in the clippers. “Do you want to know how I knew it was you that betrayed me?” 

It was rare that Petyr had seen her this violent. He’d known she had a tendency, having sent Bronn out to clean a mess or two on a few of her “girly days” with Cersei, but it was different to see her in action. She wasn’t rugged and tough like her sister or cold and dead inside like any one of his hired hands. Passion roiled beneath the surface, and she kept it on a choke-chain, using logic to determine the bloodshed. 

Umber’s face had grown pale, quite the puddle of blood accumulating in front of him. Sansa grit her teeth. “Robb told me you were there. Saw the whole thing.” 

That was a surprise. 

“You continued to perpetuate the story that it was one of the wolves, but you knew the truth. My brother maimed your father, and years later when you were asked to join forces with me, you did.” Sansa tightened her grip on that finger, as she had the one before it. 

It wasn’t entirely shocking. Families had long histories, usually involving the harming or in worst cases, the killing of one person by another. As long as things were handled delicately, alliances could be maintained. 

“So fucking what?” Umber squealed. 

“I could understand you siding with me, if I had been the one that called upon you.” Sansa shrugged. “After all, I am not my brother.” 

No, she definitely wasn’t. Sansa was so far beyond Robb; she was  _ exquisite _ . A vision of beauty and pain.

“But Robb approached you, didn’t he?” Sansa’s brow furrowed. “What kind of man allies himself with the same guy who took his father’s fingers away?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He screeched, “My father was an asshole, okay? I didn’t give two shits about that prick!” 

Again, Petyr heard the resulting scream well before he realized that Sansa had amputated another one of his fingers. Blood splattered in pulses across the floor, reaching further than the finger before. Petyr wondered if perhaps his blood pressure had increased with the level of pain he was in, and decided to google it later. 

“And that’s how I know you were the one who betrayed me.” Sansa took a step back. “You have no honor. No respect for family.” 

“Fuck you! Not everyone’s as picture-perfect as Ned and Cat’s little wolfpack,” Umber panted. 

Sansa turned to look into the shadows, and held her hand out. Petyr didn’t have to ask what she was doing, knowing she was calling to Jon. At her urging, he joined her. He’d always had an unkempt mop of curls, but it looked so much more unruly now. However white Petyr thought Sansa was, Jon was verging on transparent. His pupils disappeared in the murky grey irises that reflected the death he carried deep down. 

Petyr flashed a glance at Varys who bowed his head quickly. He knew more than he was letting on and Petyr wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Sansa decided to prove herself to him and to do it, she used his own men to carry out her bidding. He could believe it of Brune. He had always shown a little extra smidge of loyalty to Sansa because she saved his life. Oswell on the other hand was won in a card game with Jaime, and when the head to the Lannister family was about to take his frustrations out on Oswell’s boys, Petyr convinced him to take the young men on for employment rather than kill them. Oswell was grateful to Petyr and would always be loyal to him for that. He couldn’t imagine what would have motivated him to follow her orders.

Varys was a different story altogether. He was the most trustworthy, having had a long history of proving himself to Petyr. Yet, he was also the most likely to aid Sansa, misguidedly thinking Petyr still wanted the best for her. He didn’t. Not anymore. In fact, watching her crumble would be most satisfying. Until Elenei asked where Mummy was, of course. Goddamnit. 

Petyr wondered what that meant to his own rule, that his wife-- _ ex _ , could saunter in and hold his men in the palm of her hand. It was definitely disconcerting. On the other hand, Petyr was pleased to see it had nothing to do with her sex, as she’d even succeeded in stealing the gay one away for her own purposes. 

Jon let Sansa hold his cheek in her hand. His eyes closed as she spoke to him. “This man let the Lannisters in our home. He let them murder Ygritte.” She rest her forehead against his. “He is my gift to you.” 

Petyr watched Jon’s pained expression as he shook his head no. Sansa lifted her head and rubbed her thumb against his stubble. “You have to get up. You have to keep fighting.”

Jon’s eyes squinted as he shook his head. Sansa refused to accept his answer and pressed the tin snips into his palm. “Listen to me.” 

Petyr watched Jon try to give her the tool back, tears welling in his eyes. To her credit, Sansa stood her ground. “You are Jon Snow. You are stronger than you think.” She pursed her lips as she asked, “Do you feel pain?” 

Jon remained silent. 

She raised her voice, “ _ Do you get hurt? _ ” 

Tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“Answer me!” She yelled in his face. 

Jon nodded reluctantly. 

“Yes, you do!” Sansa grabbed the back of his head and crashed it into hers. “And does it stop you?” 

Jon sobbed for a second before he slowly shook his head. 

“No! It does not!” Sansa yelled again. 

Petyr watched Jon sniff, trying to pull himself together. His head nodded up and down in her grasp, and Petyr noticed the way his grip tightened on the shears, his knuckles losing color, a determined white. 

Sansa turned to kiss his cheek. Her order was whispered, but heard nonetheless, “ _ Finish him _ .” 

She let go of Jon and turned for the door, motioning for Petyr to follow. He hesitated, watching Varys leave behind her. A quick glance back to Jon showed him trembling in the same place she left him. Sansa never looked over her shoulder as she headed for the door, and Petyr felt foolish standing there with the grieving Jon and the weakened Umber. 

He closed the door behind him and stared hungrily at Sansa, alight with the power of such dominance. She spoke with conviction, “Not only is my house in order, but Jon’s back up and running.” 

Petyr swallowed back the excess saliva that had formed watching her work and he willed his erection to subside. “You don’t know that. He was a little less than himself.” 

“He will kill Smalljon, and then he will do what he can to help make the Lannisters pay.” There was no doubt in Sansa’s expression or tone.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t point out, how nervous and uncertain he was at your instruction to take Umber’s life,” Petyr pressed. 

A shrill scream sounded through the door to the garage and Sansa smirked. “You were saying?” 

Petyr eyed her, hating to be wrong, but adoring her for being right. She leaned in, maintaining eye contact as she said, “I know my cousin. His strengths and his weaknesses.” Her jaw clenched, emotion filling her whispered words. “We don’t stay down for long.” 

No they did not. 

Her hand came out as if to shake his and she asked, “Partners?” 

In the past he might have caught that hand up and kissed it, but those days were over. He briefly considered shaking as she intended, but found the idea distasteful. Taking the power back, Petyr smirked. “It was a good first step.” 

“ _ First step _ ?” She balked.

He kept his expression flat, pleased to see that silence and a straight face affected her so greatly. Her eyes told him to fuck off, but in the end, it was she that stormed off. 

Damn, she was beautiful when she was angry. Petyr told himself not to think about it. They had their time. He had thought nothing would ever come between them. It was foolish to think in absolutes, and he knew that. Life was a gamble, good or bad; it was all just chance. For seven years, Sansa made him feel like he’d rigged the bookie and was flush with wins. It was as if anything was possible, as long as they loved each other. He never had to worry or question. If he called her, she’d come. If she needed him, he’d be there. She’d never shy from his touch or roll her eyes at something he was serious about.

Petyr didn’t know if heaven existed, but considered his time with Sansa to be the closest he’d probably ever come to pearly white gates. That wasn’t to say that she was any sort of saint, only that she made him feel like a god when they were together.

Was this purgatory or hell?

Varys cleared his throat, reminding him of his presence. “I must bring something to your attention, privately.” 

Petyr glanced around himself. “We’re alone. What is it?” 

“We should talk in your office,” Varys insisted. 

Lacking the energy to push the issue, Petyr sighed and walked down the hall. Once over the threshold he asked, “What?” 

Varys dropped a manilla envelope on his desk and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Petyr sat down and reached across the desk, eyeing him suspiciously as he opened the envelope. 

Petyr peered down at an eight by ten photo of a muscular black man with a buzz-cut. “Who am I looking at?” 

“They call him Greyworm.” 

“Grey- _ worm _ ?” Petyr screwed his face in disgust as he repeated it. “Why do they call him that?” 

Varys’ lips curled into a sick grin. “What do you think an impotent black dick looks like?” 

Petyr blinked, processing his words, and worse, visualizing them. He scowled. “Why do I care about this man’s broken dick?” 

“Because it’s our key to the Mormonts,” Varys boasted.

Petyr was in no mood for games. “Explain.” 

“Greyworm has a girlfriend. A very sexually active girlfriend.” 

“Your point?”

“As you know, Petyr, sometimes head just isn’t enough,” Varys snickered. 

Varys’ glee was infectious, and Petyr found himself smiling with his old friend. “So she steps out?” 

“With his approval, of course.” Another envelope materialized as Varys explained, “Greyworm understands his limitations, and refuses to allow her to want for anything.” 

Petyr let his mind flash to Sansa for a moment, and what he would do in the same situation. He’d buy her every dildo crafted and improve upon his oral skills rather than ever allow another man inside her. The fact that this Greyworm would sanction such infidelity made him less of a man than the shrivelled cock that hung from him. “And how is this man the key to the Mormonts?” 

“This is his girlfriend,” Varys handed him the other envelope he’d been holding. 

Petyr peeled the flap back and pulled another eight by ten photo out. This time, it was of an equally dark skinned woman. Where Greyworm was alone in his picture, this woman stood next to Dany. “Her name is Missandei and she’s Dany’s right hand.” 

He had heard that Dany’s right was a woman, a black woman to be exact. More than that, he’d heard that she was constantly followed by an ever-vigilant bodyguard. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Since landing in the city with Dany, she’s spent many nights out on the town. Just her and her boyfriend, sometimes taking men home. She’s been spotted at the Lion’s Den frequently, but last night, she came to Unveiled,” Varys answered. 

“And you question her loyalty to Dany?” Petyr asked. 

Varys raised an eyebrow. “No. But, I think her loyalty to her libedo is greater.” 

Petyr sat back in his chair, realizing what Varys was insinuating. He’d used his body for business in the past, before Sansa. He’d never thought he’d see those days again. Marriage was meant to be forever, the vows unbreakable.

How incredibly fucking naive of him. Everything could be broken. Bitterness consumed him as he asked himself why he should even care. She sure as hell didn’t seem to, too focused on a partnership that was strictly business, her own rise to power. He excused himself from any guilt he might have felt, certain for the first time in many years that nothing mattered anymore. “Arrange a private meeting.”

 


	15. Fuck Acceptance: The Green Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr climbed his way to his position, grasping at anything and stepping over everything, all while he had absolutely nothing.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have flipped out,” Rickon apologized. “It’s just--”

“Just what? Out with it,” Sansa demanded.

Rickon took a deep breath before answering. “He’s our brother.”

Sansa sighed. She hated when her siblings defaulted to the age old argument of blood. “And nothing was done to him that won’t heal.”

“Not all injuries are physical,” Rickon snapped back.

Sansa huffed, not wanting to have this conversation, least of all with her youngest brother. She rolled her eyes and drawled, “How very insightful.”

The phone went silent and Sansa smiled down at Durran. He was sitting up in her lap, teething on one of his toys, drool pouring from his mouth. It was disgusting, but meant that a tooth was coming and her maternal pride was too great for her to be bothered by the slobber that preceded it. Rickon’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “So I guess this means you and Petyr are back together?”

That was definitely a sore subject. Sansa hated how things had ended up, but at the time had truly felt she was doing the right thing by deeming their relationship unhealthy. It wasn’t an easy thing to decide, feeling obligated to end a marriage to a man she loved so deeply. All her strength went into distancing herself from her addiction, only to then to have the tables turn. She had no idea how it would feel to be dumped by Petyr. He’d been the only real man in her life, all others so beneath comparison. It was strange and disconcerting to think of their relationship in the past tense.

He made it quite clear that he only put up with her for the children, valuing nothing else she had to offer. Telling her she was only as good as figurehead, he tried to foster the idea that she was completely useless as a business partner. Despite that, Sansa saw a glimpse of hope in his cold assessment of her, knowing she would raise her empire, and garner his respect. Perhaps in time he may desire her for more again.

Her self-respect told her that this was just what she needed to be rid of her drug of choice once and for all. Her sense of longing, on the other hand, wouldn’t let her overlook that whatever mistakes were made, he’d always valued her. Seven years of devotion weren’t so easily written off. Every part of her ached to be back with him again, to feel his comforting touch, and bask in the warmth of what they had. She sighed into the phone, “No. It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?” Rickon asked.  

Sansa looked for an easy out and used his lack of experience in the business to try to evade any deeper discussion on the matter. “It’s business. I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I’ve done jobs for Petyr before. I understand more than you think!” Rickon replied, definitely insulted.

She knew he had worked for them, having allowed and encouraged Petyr to call on him on occasion. This knowledge was not new, or very surprising. There was just something that didn’t feel right about what he said, however, and it took a second before Sansa realized he’d specified Petyr only. “You’ve worked for _us_ before.”

“I just said that.”

No. He didn’t. Not quite. “Have you ever worked for just Petyr before?” Sansa asked, dreading the answer.

“Yeah, a couple of times.” Rickon asked uncertainly, “Why?”

Sansa drew a deep breath, feeling herself tense. She’d never specifically told him that Rickon was off limits like she had Bran, but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable with him engaging her family for work without her knowledge. That would apply to any member of the Stark family. “What did he hire you for?”

Rickon was quick to respond. “All that surveillance software.”

“Surveillance software?” Sansa asked. “Oh. You mean for the kids bedrooms.” It had been a gift of Rickon’s to set up baby monitors in the kids room and living room that Petyr could monitor from his phone. It was software that came in handy when they were out and about and wanted to check on their babysitters, or even when they were in the other room doing something less than decent and didn’t want to lose sight of the children.

“No, Sans.” Rickon sounded confused. “For the whole house.”

“The _whole_ house?”

“Yeah.”

That was surprising. Her mind wandered to Petyr’s tendency to have perfect timing, the many instances he seemed to know just what had occurred throughout the day. The past four years of her life had been under his ever-watchful eye. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Petyr said you knew…”

No, she didn’t. She knew about the kids bedrooms and the living room, but not the rest of the house. She suddenly thought of all the mortifying things she’d done when she was the only person in the room. Had he seen everything? Heard everything? Her cheeks colored with embarrassment. Indignation flared inside her, though that was quickly quelled when her own sense of flattery gave her another angle to appreciate the situation from.

Not only did Petyr worship her in person, but apparently, he’d been adoring her from afar too. For years. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew. Just forgot. You get used to them.” It was better not to let Rickon know she wasn’t aware, and hope he didn’t bring it up in conversation to Petyr. Sansa knew the importance of keeping some tidbits of information under her hat.

Rickon ended their call shortly after, saying that he was seeing Robb and Talisa off. It wasn’t surprising that he’d turn tail and run the minute things got ugly. Granted, not many people would want to stick around after getting a broken arm, but it wasn’t exactly the end of the world. If he were as committed as he pretended to be, as he promised the Umbers he was, he would have stayed through a fractured radius.

Sansa laid Durran down for his nap, the wheels in her head running off the rails. Was Petyr still watching her? If so, was it simply to keep a protective eye over his children, or did he watch her with another interest in mind? He’d told her that he found her unattractive, and acted as if he wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole. Maybe he was only interested in learning any secrets she tried to keep, listening for underhanded dealings she wasn’t including him in. If that were the case, he would have been done spying on her early on. Sansa had never acted so independently as she had since the separation.

Maybe he wasn’t watching anymore. Why would he? He probably had them installed when Elenei was a baby and used them to watch over her and steal the occasional peek at Sansa for the novelty of it. Now that things were on the rocks, she doubted he had any desire to access to such a viewing.

Sansa glanced around the room, not allowing her head to follow wherever her eyes darted. Attempting to spot where the cameras could be, only made her feel silly. If she hadn’t noticed them in four years, it was doubtful that she’d discover them when she was searching so inconspicuously. Thankful for the sudden distraction, Sansa looked down at her phone to read, _I’m flattered you felt the need to crawl on your knees to Baelish for protection._

Cersei.

Though Sansa’s heart kept beating, the air in her lungs hung stagnant as she gaped at the text on the screen. No adequate answer came to mind, too awed by the fact that Cersei had messaged her in the first place. There was usually a mandated silence while all involved parties sussed out where the responsibility lay in any assassination. Except, that everyone knew where the responsibility lay. The Lannisters drew first blood, declaring war on the Baelishes. Was silence really necessary? Cersei certainly didn’t seem to think so.

 _Just how much cum did you have to swallow for Baelish to forgive you?_ Cersei texted again.

Irritation prickled the back of her neck as Sansa typed back, _Why should he forgive me?_

Shit.

She hadn’t meant to engage Cersei, feed into her goading. Emotions were ruling her again, and Sansa told herself to reel them in.

It was a couple of minutes before the wall of text in response appeared on Sansa’s phone. _You want me to think you’re broken up over your brother so I won’t suspect you for Tommen. All just games. Someone should revoke your players club card. Your hand is showing._

Sansa had started to respond, ready to tell her she was wrong, when Cersei added, _If you’re back under Baelish’s roof, you’re the one who begged forgiveness. Shame. I thought you had a backbone. Oh well, you should be an easy kill._

Sansa stared at those last words, letting them reverberate in her brain. She wanted to respond, fill the silence that followed that last message. Twenty minutes later, when she’d still not slid her thumb across her keyboard, she’d managed to read the message too many times for it to make sense anymore.

The day was filled with distractions while Petyr was away, her mind drifting. He never told her where he was going, but she could safely assume he was working. She wanted to be his peer, her opinion valued alongside his own. Sansa hadn’t anticipated how poignantly he’d point out her severe lack of worth.

The moment he said those hurtful things to her, Sansa knew he was right. There had been a fox in the hen house and she needed to sniff him out. Umber was the simplest, most obvious choice. If she was wrong about him, he’d at least serve as example, though she was almost certain she was right.

Before she could consider the matter further, she was surprised to see Varys standing in the doorway to her garage. “Varys?”

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He had always been more subtle in his speech, though his voice was noticeably more faint. Sansa took a step forward to better inspect him. His rounded cheeks had sunken in and turned a gray palor with a sheen of sickly perspiration.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“What is it?” Sansa asked, not certain she truly wanted to know. The last time she didn’t know something Bran had forever lost the ability to walk.

“It was the only way in.” He swallowed. “I promise you, it wasn’t to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Sansa felt anxiety flare inside of her. “What are you talking about?”

“Petyr gave me a job, a very important one.” Varys explained, his expression morose. “He told me not to talk to him again until it was complete.”

That was serious. Petyr didn’t go a day without his right in his ear. “Because of the Mormonts?”

“I couldn’t be more sorry, Sansa. I didn’t know at the time.” His gaze dropped to the floor as he spoke with an honesty he may not have had the courage for. “And I didn’t really care.” He raised his head, sorrow in his eyes. “At the time.”

Sansa took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure how prepared she was for any sort of confession, let alone one from back when her and Varys hadn’t seen eye to eye. They had come so far since the days of belittling and undercutting, and with how distant Sansa felt from everyone, she didn’t exactly needed a reminder of a time when even their relationship was strained. The urge to wave him off and offer a quick uninformed pardon was all too tempting. Except that he wasn’t speaking entirely in the past. Petyr had given him this very important task in the present, and had declined contact with him until it was complete. Again, in the present.

“I believe you. The past is the past, Varys,” she assured him, hoping that small kindness would allow him get on with the point. “What was this job?”

“Petyr hired Shae--”

“He did?” That got Sansa’s interest.

Varys nodded. “To get a foothold in the Lannisters. But, because we’re dealing with two different families…” He glanced nervously at her. “He told me to find a way into the Mormonts.”

Sansa sighed. It was good in theory, but no way would Dany allow anyone close to her. There was no secret Varys could dig up, no deal he could strike that would open Dany to any sort of assault. “And let me guess, you couldn’t?” She shook her head. “It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up over this. It was an impossible task.” Sansa took a step towards him and put a comforting hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. He knows this. That’s probably why he did it. He’ll come around.”

So certain he was upset over the prospect of Petyr not talking to him, Sansa almost didn’t hear him say, “But, I did.”

She looked up. “You did?”

Varys nodded his head slowly. “I’m very good at what I do, Sansa.”

“I know.” It was now her voice that was growing faint. She had no idea where this sense of dread stemmed from, but it was there, budding inside of her nonetheless. Not for the first time, she hesitated to inquire. “What was the job?”

Varys went silent, and she suddenly wanted to slap the apologetic look from his face. She could feel her heart race as she repeated, “What was the job, Varys?”

He closed his eyes and gasped, “Missandei.”

“ _Missandei_?” Sansa spat back at him, as if that one name was supposed to mean anything to her. “What are you talking about?”

He inhaled deeply. “Sex.”

“ _Sex_?” She repeated, not willing to hear him right.

“Her boyfriend can’t give it to her, and we both know it’s Petyr’s fortay.” Varys didn’t bother to act as if what he was divulging had carried any less weight than it did.

Some small part of her refused to accept this. She shook her head, “So he sent a man to service her?” She didn’t wait for Varys to answer, before shrugging in denial. “It makes sense. I’ve told him a thousand times that we should expand. Stop pigeon holing ourselves in pussy.”

Varys glanced down at the floor, too chicken-shit to look her in the eye. “No. He’s been in contact with her, _personally._ ”

“Personally?” She gasped.

He offered no response, his eyes glued to his feet. Sansa licked her lips, feeling the bitterness reach every nook and cranny of her: head, heart, fingers and toes. Her mouth tasted sour and rage drew every muscle in her body taut. Fuck this. No way. Petyr wouldn’t do this. Varys was wrong. He had to be.

_He had to be._

“He’s just playing her,” Sansa dismissed. “It’s just a fucking game--a way into the Mormonts, like you said. He’s not going to do anything. Not really.”

Varys dragged his gaze up to her, the look of pity on his face so profound. Sansa balled her fists. “Do you hear me, Varys? He won’t.”

“I have known Petyr for quite a while now.” Varys cleared his throat, visibly gathering all the courage he had. “He has a mind for business, and knows how to stay on top.”

How many times had Sansa mused that he was her King and she his Queen? Petyr climbed his way to his position, grasping at anything and stepping over everything, all while he had absolutely nothing. It was admirable, and though it meant that all things were attainable, it also meant that there were no limits either. Perhaps when they were together, he may have shown more restraint. Out of respect for her and the bond they shared, he would have drawn a line at using his sex as he had so many times in the past, valuing the sanctity of fidelity. Now that they were so beyond repair, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Petyr would lose whatever reserve he had, slipping back into his old ways to assure his strength.

Petyr loved power. She knew that when she met him; it was part of what attracted her to him. The promise of what they could accomplish together was even more enticing than the three carat emerald cut diamond that decorated her finger, or the children he filled her belly with. The rest was simply icing on the cake: the presumptuous words that teased her ears, the stolen caresses that left her quivering, and the steadfast vows that gave her a sense of security she’d never felt in the entirety of her life--not even when her parents were alive.

She wanted to say, _he loves me more_ , but she knew better. Any love he may have had for her was leaving him at an alarming rate. He drugged her and dragged her home, only to tell her in no uncertain terms that he was finished with her. She’d pushed too far. Who would have known that was even possible after how much he promised to love her. She likened him to an addiction, and prayed for an end, never once imagining the reality of it.

“Why are you telling me this?” Sansa asked him, forcing the world back into focus.

Varys furrowed his brow and admitted, “Petyr is his best with you.”

Before she had a chance to soak in those words and feel any sort of compliment, Varys added, “And he’s letting you go.”

She wanted to shake her head and tell him no, but he refused to allow her that kindness. His expression turned solemn as he pointed out, “He’s taken off his ring.”

If that wasn’t a stab to the heart, she wasn’t sure what was. Sansa glanced down at her own ringed finger, realizing for the first time in twenty-seven long days, that she’d yet to take it off. For as toxic as she’d deemed their relationship, and as necessary as she’d convinced herself it was to leave him, she’d never removed the token of her returned love to Petyr.

The child in her wanted to yell that no he hadn’t. If she hadn’t taken her ring off, then neither had Petyr. There was no way that he would. He loved her more, didn’t he? She loved him inside and out, but his worship of her have to give him a one-up in the love department.

“He would die first,” she insisted.

Varys bowed his head, sorrow filling his face. “You have children. Petyr was a child once. An _orphaned_ child.” It didn’t surprise Sansa to know that Varys was well aware of Petyr’s history. “He would stop at nothing to protect his children from that same fate. You know this is true.”

The Lannisters had initiated a war. Sansa knew more than anyone what that would mean to children, having lost her own parents to an attack from a rival family. She’d been so wrapped up in her feelings for Petyr, her concern for Jon, and the need to feel some ounce of control in regards to her life, that she’d completely taken impact on her children for granted. Elenei and Durran were both her and Petyr’s. No one would dare harm them, except for Cersei in her more crazed, grief-stricken state.  

Varys lifted his chin as he spoke. “I did what I had to, because I am loyal to Petyr.” Then, he tipped his head to her. “And I’m telling you about it now, because I am loyal.”

She noted he’d neglected to add who he was loyal when he explained why he told her Petyr’s business. Unable to fully appreciate his sacrifice, she nodded absently. Images of the way Petyr used to kiss and touch her filled her thoughts as she tried to picture him doing the same to Missandei, the woman she met but briefly during Joffrey’s glass lunch. Had the woman smiled at all then? More than a polite curve of lips, never bothering to flash any teeth? Would Petyr make her smile?

Of course he would. He would make it worth her while. Of that, Sansa was certain. Whether he wanted it or not, he’d make damn certain Missandei enjoyed herself. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. Petyr had made a career out of jamming a cock in a cunt until the cash flowed. There was no feeling there. No emotion.

Then why did it hurt so much?

He told her that their relationship was over. At best, all she could hope to be to him was a partner in crime. She had no right to feel so torn up over the possibility that his body would rub and react to another. Reducing it down to base bodily functions should have helped. There was no affection in ejaculation, and any that crept in was surely just the oxytocin programmed to release. The news Varys brought was nothing, just word of a meaningless fuck to forget about tomorrow.

Perhaps. Only, he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.

Sansa skidded to a halt mid-pace. That couldn’t be true. Perhaps he’d taken it off for a brief moment, worried it’d get caught on something? Wasn’t that why men were always taking it off? Lying to herself was fruitless. Men took their rings off to better catch snatch. She had to talk to him, to see for herself.

Her phone flew out of her pocket before she realized what she was doing, and a blank text screen stared back at her. What would she say? _Are you going to cheat on me?_ Was it even still considered cheating? Maybe in a court of law, but legalities aside, they were broken up. How about, _Do you seriously want Dany’s bitch_ ? Nope. No good. Maybe, _Don’t you dare fuck anyone but me!_ Definitely the wrong move.

There was no right thing to say, no appropriate way to ignore the awful things they told each other in the past. What good would it do to tell him that the idea of him with someone else made her want to break everything in sight?

Sight.

Sansa’s gaze wandered to the four corners of the room she was in, keeping her head still as her eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. If he still loved her, he would be watching. There would be no need for a well-articulated message, she could call to him in her own way. If he didn’t… She couldn’t think about if he didn’t.

Dinner had already come and gone and after Sansa put the children to bed, she changed into a tank top and some exceedingly short-shorts. She gathered her hair back into a smooth ponytail and sauntered over to Petyr’s room, mindful of each step. If he was watching, she was determined to look her best.

He told her that he no longer found her attractive, but he was hurt and angry when he said that. He couldn’t have meant it. Petyr had always been so enamoured by her, and wherever his heart lied, the man was still only human, and his body would betray his truth. She prayed.

Sansa hadn’t put herself on such display since before they split, at the time not wanting or caring to attract him. She did now, though, both wanting and needing the comfort that successfully drawing him to her brought. Rooting around the top drawer of his dresser, she was able to find the remote within a couple of minutes and pressed the button that raised the brass pole from the floor. When she had it installed, it used to have an area rug concealing it, but Petyr had long since had it removed, proudly stating that a stripper pole in their room was nothing to be modest about.

She told herself not to look around, not to seek out the camera--or _cameras_ in their bedroom. Not only did she not want him to know that she knew this little secret of his, but she wanted to appear casual in her effort to catch his eye. Sansa pressed another button to turn on the surround sound stereo in their room and gripped the pole in front of her. It had been a bit since she’d last taken a twirl, feeling her strength flex as she lifted her body from the ground. Gravity grabbed at her, dragging her down, each muscle in her body crying out in the strain as she stared at the empty bedroom turned upside down.

Each breath she drew, she prayed for strength and grace. Huffing and puffing up a pole would put anyone off, particularly Petyr who had higher expectations in regards to that sort of entertainment. Sansa closed her eyes, needing to control her breathing as she spun around and dropped to her heels, spreading her knees and holding the stretch longer, before jumping back up on her toes.

Sansa threw her head back, feeling that meditative calm wash over her as her other hand gripped the pole and she brought each leg out straight. Eventually, there was no more Missandei, Petyr, or even the emotions that had overwhelmed her before. There was only music and muscles, both working in perfect cadence with one another. Her body was taking over, telling her mind to quiet, it’s anxiety was not necessary in this activity. She hooked a leg around the pole and brought her hands behind her head as she twirled, letting only the power in her thighs keep her from falling.

“Auditioning?” Petyr’s voice woke her out of her peace and she tightened her grip. “Save yourself the energy, Sansa. It would be a conflict of interest for me to hire you on as one of my girls.”

He wore a self-satisfied smirk as he stood in the doorway. This wasn’t the warm reception she wanted, but it was the one she had anticipated. She stood next to the pole and gave him a playful grin. “Why’s that? Afraid you’ll fly off the handle at the first twenty someone stuffs between my breasts?”

Petyr shook his head and chuckled. “Oh no, Sansa.” He walked further into the bedroom as he spoke. “Making money never upsets me.” As he drew near, his smile grew more devilish. “Don’t forget, a quarter off the top always goes to the house.”

She bristled at that. “Glad to know you’d take no issue.”

He waved his hand at her. “Oh please, don’t stop on my account. Carry on. I assume you’re trying to seduce me for something.”

“Why would I have any interest in seducing you?” Sansa scowled at him, derailed by his acridity.

Petyr took a seat in front of her and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you’ve fallen short somewhere and are still vying for some partnership you’re not ready for.” He rubbed his chin and then chuckled. “Maybe you’re hoping your tits will save you.”

Fury flared inside her. She was more than her body and he knew that. He used to value her mind. Now it seemed as if any direction she turned in, she was suddenly inadequate. This was not what she had planned. Sansa took a deep breath and closed her eyes, forcing herself to sway to the music. This was not his to control. She made herself smile. “You told me that I always think the worst of you. But I think it might be the other way around. Why can’t I just want to work out?”

Petyr reached over beside his chair to grab an empty glass and a bottle of bourbon, pouring himself a drink. Had he always kept alcohol by the bed? Sansa spun around again, trying to find her strength, her courage. She lifted herself back up off the floor and listened to his voice as smooth as the intoxicating liquid he poured in his glass. “Find a gym. Pole dancing in _my_ bedroom is pathetic.”

Yes. She knew it was pathetic. The panic in Varys’ eyes and the death on his face, told her she was running out of options. Things were severe; Petyr was as far away from her as he’d ever be. He was her drug and addictions brought pain and an inability to stop using, despite the negative effects. Petyr gave her the greatest high, and as long as she had a steady course of him, she never had to shiver and shake and crash.

Couldn’t he see that? Didn’t that matter to him? He had always told her how much he adored her, how much he _needed_ her. One would have thought that out of the two of them, he was more addict than she. Did he not suffer a withdrawal without her? It hurt to see him so easily discard her, kick his habit.

It was then that she realized something. Petyr was in his bedroom. Not at work. A quick glance at the clock showed that it had only been about twenty minutes or so since she entered. He had been watching. More than that, he’d been watching her. It was unlikely that Petyr kept such a vigilant eye on his own bedroom, especially when he expected it to be empty, though the fact that his door was unlocked didn’t escape her. Judging by how long it took for Petyr to get from any one of his establishments to home, he’d noticed her dancing early on, which meant he had probably been watching her all along.

She knew she probably should have been upset by that, or at the very least uncomfortable. Instead, it was actually invigorating to see such interest, however hidden. “I heard you have a date tonight.” The words were out of her mouth without much consideration and though she didn’t regret them, she had wished there had been more of a natural build up.

Petyr stared at her, his expression unreadable. It was obvious that she wanted him there, no matter how coy she tried to play it. Had he not expected her to know about Missandei? Perhaps he hadn’t seen Varys’ visit. Knowing Varys, the man probably knew just where to stand in their home to avoid being seen. If Sansa wasn’t trying to keep her own knowledge of the surveillance secret, she’d have to ask him to share those choice locations with her.

Petyr raised an eyebrow as he answered. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“Is it something else?” Sansa came to a stop, feeling her chest tighten.

He took a slow sip from his glass. Each second of silence felt like eternity as his tongue licked the alcohol from his lips. _Lie to me_ , she begged in the reticence. _Please. If you have to, I don’t care. Lie to me. Tell me it’s nothing._

She hadn’t realized that she’d been walking toward him, pulled by the gravity of his disparaging self-censorship. The world melted away, leaving only them and the invisible strings that hooked into her heart and wrapped around his will. His eyes holding her gaze, rolled up to keep it the nearer she approached. It wasn’t until her knee bumped into his that she startled a little and bit her lip to stifle a gasp. He didn’t look away, but the twitch of his lips told her that he was just as surprised. Her heart thumped in her chest, and her hands suddenly felt hot and sweaty. Gone was the mature wife and mother of two. It was as if she’d been zapped back to junior high, nervous and naive, unsure of what came next. Was the spell broken?  

She didn’t want to find her reserve, or he his conceitedness. In a moment of sheer bravery, she did what felt right and lifted one knee, letting it rest between the arm of the chair and his thigh. His eyes darting back and forth between her leg and her eyes, was the only indication that she’d rattled him at all. Sansa inhaled, telling herself to keep her composure as her body did what it wanted. Her other leg swung up and landed on his lap. It was uncoordinated and skittish, and completely out of her control. It felt like do or die--keep going or forever lose what little ground she’d gained.

Sansa’s palms found his chest, fingers splaying to cover as much as she could as she hovered above his face. He broke eye contact to glance down at the situation they were in, no doubt taking in the generous cleavage that hung in front of him, heaving with each anxiety-filled breath. Her ass lifted, squirming for him to meet her gaze again. She prayed he wouldn’t see reason, wanting him to do what came natural, and wanting more than anything to be what came natural.

Unwilling to suffer such torture, she charged ahead and pressed her lips to his. She was done with waiting, tired of feeling her heart pound it’s pulse outside of her body. If he wouldn’t kiss her, she would kiss him. If he didn’t want it, she’d make him. Her tongue slid into his mouth, finding his and massaging it. Nothing had ever mattered more, her hips rocking in the air as her hands moved to his shoulders. Petyr was not as passive as she feared he might be, though he still lacked the passion he used to shower her with. It was clear she was leading the way, and though she wanted him to take over--take her, she was willing to hold the reins if it meant he was still on board. She tilted her head as her hands roved from shoulders to neck, her fingers digging into the back of his scalp. There was no stopping the moan that escaped her lips when she felt his palm caress the back of her thigh and slip under the hem of her shorts to squeeze her ass. Elated with his reciprocation, Sansa felt larger than her mere physical form could contain and sucked his bottom lip in the heat of their kiss.

Her hips continued their primal push and pull against the stability of his digits driving into her backside. She didn’t bother trying to hide her pleasure, smiling into their kiss as she imagined the marks he was creating. The bruises would serve proof of his continued love for her, despite everything they’d said to the contrary.

The knee that had perched in his lap, slid down, wedging between him and the arm of the chair as the other hand, letting her seat herself fully in his lap. His belt buckle pressed against her core, and she rested her forehead against his, panting into his mouth, allowing a lazy and deliberate thrust. Finally feeling confident that he was as invested in their intimacy as she, Sansa fluttered her lids open to look back at him.

His expression was not lust-laden. Neither was it warm and loving. Instead, it was frigid and impenetrable. Petyr’s eyes glittered emerald in the shadows as he glared at her. She couldn’t find her breath, but by the look of him, he’d never lost his. “Petyr?” She asked, not knowing what she was asking.

He chuckled. “Thanks for the practice.”

“ _Practice?_ ” Sansa recoiled, backing out of his lap, her steps unsteady.

Petyr stood up. “Seven years of fucking the same woman--I almost wasn’t sure if I could fake it anymore.”

“No.” She shook her head, feeling her insides drop to the floor.

He walked past her, not caring an ounce for the sense of betrayal and resulting agony she made no attempt to hide from her face. Not willing to give up that easily, she dug her heels in. “That was real. I know it was real. You weren’t faking.”

“Wasn’t I?” He ducked her grasp as he made for his dresser. “Don’t bother acting affronted. It’s time to accept things.”

Fuck acceptance. She shook her head no.

“Stop playing games if you don’t want to get played.”

“Games?” She felt the tears well in her eyes and fought to blink them back.

Petyr reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Save the dramatics.” Before she could retort, he had taken the shirt off and was in the process of putting another one on.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked.

“Getting ready. Obviously.” He closed his dresser drawer.

Sansa shook her head, trying to manage the panic that sent her blood pressure skyrocketing. “No. You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow at her. “Exploit a beautiful women for information? Finally fuck a different face?” He popped a mint in his mouth and added, “You know, I wonder if she’s tighter.”

Sansa winced.

“I’m told she’s a bit of a whore, but still--it’s not as if she’s pushed out a kid, so I guess she’s got one up on you.” Petyr walked towards the door.

“Stop!” It was unexpected and raw, a one word command-- _plea_.

He froze and she wondered if perhaps he was moved by her emotion. He didn’t turn around, or look back at her as he sighed. “No. You stop.”

Stop what? Loving him? Wanting him back? Completely debasing herself if necessary? Before she could ask, he sighed, suddenly sounding weary as he said, “You can’t seduce me anymore. Stop wasting our time by trying.”

“Seduce you?” She asked, incredulously.

He lifted his head. “If you were trying to seduce me, you’d be _crawling in my lap, running your fingers through my hair, and sucking my lip_.”

Her heart stalled.

Too stunned to respond, she watched him walk away, his outline getting smaller and smaller with the distance. Those had been her words, carelessly tossed at him and easily lost in a time of unforgiving truth. But they weren’t. Not this time.

Her kiss felt right, and she meant it. Every ounce of her meant it. Did he not see that? Too wrapped up in the horrible things she’d said, naked and lashing out at the time. She’d been drugged! Did that not factor into his appraisal of the situation? Could she really be held so accountable?

He was just being cruel.

Unless, he wasn’t. So much had changed, what if he was being honest? Just because she was only now accepting how much she loved him, consequences be damned, didn’t mean he felt the same towards her. Sansa’s mind wandered to Missandei at Joffrey’s death luncheon. Her polite smile, soft skin, and curvy body all added to the package Petyr would be fondling as soon enough. Would he find pleasure in pretend? Much to Sansa’s regret, Missandei was a beautiful woman, and that fact would not escape Petyr’s notice.

She thought of the many ways Petyr took her in their marriage, both slow and sensual and fast and forcefully. In all instances, it was passionate and filled with wanting. He thirsted for her, and the pleasure he took was unabashed, a smile so genuine it teased the color to his eyes. Images of those same eyes drinking in Missandei flooded her mind and Sansa felt her stomach lurch.

No.

He wouldn’t look at her that way. He wouldn’t touch her that way. Sansa held onto the memory of how vacantly he fucked Margaery, and comforted herself with how little pleasure he seemed to take in it.

This was different.

Margaery was playing the part of a whore; he didn’t have to woo her. If he was going to take advantage of a relationship formed with Missandei, he’d have to form a relationship of sorts, a wanting at least. Would Missandei cup his cheek as he drove himself into her?

There was no warning, just a sudden jump in her stomach that she couldn’t subdue. Her mouth watered as she ran for the bathroom, throwing the door open and collapsing in front of the toilet. Everything she’d eaten that day, which wasn’t much, emptied into the bowl as she clung to the seat. She trembled through her sobs, feeling so cold and exposed.

And so overwhelmingly alone.

Sansa turned her head on her arm, her attention caught by the sparkle of her ring in the overhead light. Her gaze narrowed on it, the token of a love meant to be forever. He gave it to her and promised that she’d always be his. No matter what. Yet, here they were, him with another woman while she hugged a toilet through her grief. He screwed up and she never forgave him for it. She walked out and promised to move on, telling herself that it was better that way. No matter what lines they crossed, awful things they’d said and done to each other, she’d never taken the ring off.

If she had the energy to laugh, she would. How odd it was that she had gone through so much, taken so many measures to shake free of him? All to push him away and she’d still yet to pry that token from her finger.

Varys said that Petyr had taken his off. Why hadn’t she looked? Either too taken by circumstance, or too far in denial to chance seeing its absence, she wasn’t sure. There was no reason not to believe Varys, and that only hurt more. Was it hard for Petyr? Did he have to butter his finger to free himself from the sense of forever? Or did it slide right off on the first try, a engagement so easily shirked?

“Mum? You okay?” Elenei’s high-pitched voice sounded, her tiny fist pounding against the wood.

Sansa lifted her head to gawk at the door. What was she doing up? She cleared her throat and started smoothing her hair back, getting up on wobbly legs. “I’m fine!” She turned the faucet on and cupped her hand under the stream. “How come you’re up? Everything alright?”

Swishing clean water through her mouth and spitting it out quickly, Sansa grabbed a towel to dab her face dry, noting the splotches of red that tinged her cheeks. Emotions were such an ugly business. Her hand was on the knob, swinging the door open before she could dwell on appearances. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I need to pee,” she answered, her eyes blinking innocently up at her. She trotted past Sansa, not bothering to shoo her out or try to close the door before she pulled her pajama pants down and hopped up on the toilet.

Sansa turned to leave, her daughter’s steady stream echoing in the background.

“You sounded like you were throwing up!” Elenei explained from her perch.

“I’m okay. Dinner just didn’t sit well.” Sansa replied, thinking, _And your father doesn’t love me anymore. He’s moved on and I can’t._

“Oh.” Elenei’s little legs swung, linked by the pajama bottoms. “But you didn’t eat dinner.”

Caught in a lie by a four year old. Sansa gave a wry smile because it was all she had. What was life coming to? She wouldn’t let herself fall too far down that rabbit hole and instead simply said, “Don’t forget to wash your hands when you’re done.”

She had turned to leave when she heard Elenei call out. “I’m happy you’re getting Daddy. He’ll give you snuggles and jello till you feel better.”

Sansa froze. _Getting Daddy?_

“What do you mean?”

Elenei hopped off the toilet and waddle-walked over to the wall with the toilet paper holder on it, her pants still around her ankles. In any other circumstance, Sansa would have grinned at the awkwardness only a childhood innocence could normalize. “You always give me jello when I get sick and we cuddle on the couch with blankets and cartoons. Maybe Daddy will do that for you.”

“No. Not that.” Sansa shook her head. “What do mean, I’m getting Daddy?”

Sansa tried to look away as Elenei took too much toilet paper and balled it up before pressing it to herself and tossing it towards the toilet. She missed of course, and then cringed and smiled weakly at Sansa. “Oopsey...sorry Mum.”

“It’s fine, just pull up your pants.” Sansa sighed, tired of looking away. She’d seen her children’s nether regions a million times, but had been trying to instill some sense of propriety in her daughter as she aged and lost her baby look by the day.

A series of grunts followed as Elenei attempted to yank up her pants as she walked towards the wad of toilet paper and pick it up. She chucked it in the toilet bowl and gave a victorious grin. “Varys and Olly are here.”

“They are?” Sansa asked in surprise. “Why?”

Elenei gave and exasperated sigh. “To watch me and Durran while you go get Daddy.”

Sansa glanced up and down the hall, wondering just how much she knew. “From where?”

Her daughter shrugged. “I don’t know. Work?”

She remained blissfully ignorant. That was something at least. Sansa scooped her up in her arms and kissed her cheek. “I love you. Get back to bed.”

Sansa had barely made it to the living room before she heard Olyvar’s voice cooing to baby Durran. “That’s it. Come here. You’re alright.” He looked up at her. “Hey, Sansa.”

“What are you doing here?” She asked, no malice to her words, only exhaustion.

He lacked the same fortitude his partner had. “Varys said we should come and look after the little ones while you and Baelish got things sorted.”

“Did he?” Sansa asked, bereft of any strength she may have had before, feeling so completely drained.

“I did.” Varys came in, wearing a burp cloth over his shoulder and carrying a diaper. To look at him, one would never know just how deadly the bald man could be. Though, the same could be said for either her or Petyr.

Not wanting to admit defeat, but too spent to pretend otherwise, she let her shoulders slump. “It’s too late. I tried. He’s all done with me.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you for the heads up, Varys. It was appreciated. But in the end, it didn’t much matter. His mind’s made up.”

Her stomach inched up her esophagus again and she felt that familiar sick sweat forming on her upper lip. She drove her nails into her thigh, willing herself not to throw up in front of an audience. Closing her eyes and then quickly opening them, she felt the weightlessness of not having an object to ground herself with.

“ _I refuse_.” Varys’ quiet voice insisted.

“Refuse?” She asked.

His expression was solemn as he explained, “I refuse to let you go.”

What was he talking about? Varys had never had he. Sansa scrunched her face in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He needs you.” His words were slow and deliberate. “You need him.” He took a step forward, the lines in his forehead deepening as he said, “Anyone else for either of you will only be a cheap counterfeit copy to chew through.”

Sansa shook her head. “No. You don’t understand. He doesn’t want me anymore.”

“I know Petyr more than most.” There was a pride in his expression that Sansa was glad Olyvar hadn’t seen. “I’ve known him before you. And during you.” He closed his eyes and breathed, “And I refuse to see Petyr _after_ you. He’ll be a shell and he deserves more than that.”

It was too much to take and Sansa wavered on her feet. A mop of brown curls moved in her periphery, slowly approaching. “ _Jon_ ,” she breathed. His hands asked her a question, his grey eyes turning silver and uncharacteristically sharp. “Of course,” she answered him, a tear rolling down her cheek. Of course, she loved Petyr.

Again his hands moved and she felt a blow to her chest at the implication that she didn’t want him enough. _“I tried,_ ” she defended.

Before she could answer how, Jon interrupted, his hands moving in accusation. How had he known? “It wasn’t meant to be a game!” She hissed. “I wanted him to come home! To want me! To show him that I still wanted him!” It wasn’t seduction, but instead a yearning.

He was unyielding in his pursuit. His hands challenged her, inaudibly screaming that if she wanted Petyr back she needed to be honest, to drop all the games. She shook her head, denying it. Sansa had never been more serious when she tried to draw upon a passion they’d shared. It wasn’t a game when she used his cameras against him, or assaulted his lips with everything that had been brewing between them.

Fuck.

She used his cameras against him.

Used her body to get his attention.

Her intentions may have been pure, but her actions were all wrong. Why wouldn’t he have thought her desire for him was just another ploy? At the rate things were going, what other conclusion did he really have to draw?

The feel of cold steel startled her from her thoughts, and she didn’t have to look down to know it was a pistol that had suddenly filled her palm. Jon’s eyes stared back into hers as he persisted. Any argument, any protest she might have had, died on her lips when he took a step back and brought his hands up to ask if Petyr was still her husband or not.

Her throat hurt, all the pain that roared inside of her scoring it as she swallowed. Unable to form words, she simply nodded, her vision blurring. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her arm and read his hands one final time as he told her that the time for games was over. She sought the nearest, fastest car in the garage and didn’t have to wonder about the footsteps behind her, knowing they belonged to Jon.

She grabbed the keys to the Jaguar and hopped in, and punched the gas, narrowly missing the garage door as it rose. The engine revved as she spun around in the driveway. Jon held up his phone for her to read, _Crag Club._

Thank you, Varys.

Tires squealed as she pulled onto the road. Sansa stared more at the speedometer than she did the road, knowing she could go faster, needing the car to take the beating she issued it. Out of the corner of her eye, she knew Jon grabbed the handle but couldn’t spare him the glance, knowing that should she turn the wheel just a hair they might find themselves upside down in a ditch.

She pulled the car around the back, knowing that no one of importance parked in the front. Petyr’s car was there, idling. The fact that it was a town car did not escape her notice. Her stomach turned as she considered what that meant, a driver to focus on the road and free Petyr’s hands for other activities. The minute she hit the brakes, Jon was out of the car waiting for her. She felt for the door handle, losing her nerve. Her body shivered with the panic of what she might find. Was he still inside? Or just behind the tinted windows of the backseat?

Jon gave her a look of both confusion and irritation. He was no doubt wondering what she was doing, why she stalled. It was easy for him to charge ahead, bust in on Petyr and Missandei wrapped around each other. Any pain Jon felt over it would be a mere offense on her behalf. She on the other hand, wasn’t entirely sure that the sight wouldn’t cripple her. In all the time she’d spent at the hotel or on Kingsroad, she’d never imagined Petyr with another woman. It was stupid not to have ever considered it. What did she think he was going to do in her absence? Stay chaste for another forty or so years until he died? This was real life, not some gothic romance novel. And even then, Heathcliff found another lady to fuck after Cathy.

The gun was heavy in her hand and she felt silly carrying it. What did she think she was going to do with it? Whether or not Petyr took any enjoyment in his time with Missandei, he was doing this for business. Missandei was a way into the Mormont camp, Varys was clear on that. Shoving a gun in the woman’s face and cursing her out was not going to bode well for whatever schemes Petyr had.

Sansa had been staring at the tinted back window for a while, feeling herself shrink back. This was wrong. It was impulsive and bound to screw up something delicate. She turned, ignoring the frantic motion of Jon’s arms waving beside her. There had to be a hundred girls at the Crag Club, all flirting for attention. Though, for whatever reason, when Sansa heard a soft giggle carry through the night air, her instincts told her to look. It was at that same exact time, self-preservation instructed her to keep her head down and keep walking.

She was saved from the decision when she felt Jon’s hand grip her arm and yank her back against him. Looking up was a reflex she couldn’t fight, despite the internal warning that tried to protect her from seeing what she knew she would. Petyr was with Missandei, leaving the club. He held her close, letting his arm rest low on her waist, guiding her alongside him. Sansa couldn’t see his face, turned into Missandei’s neck, but she knew without question that it was him.

They walked together in slow motion, savoring each step, dragging out each private smile and whisper. It was as if Sansa had dived into a pool, her ears filled with water, muffling and drowning out the sounds that surrounded her. The only clear noise she could hear was the scratch of each breath in and the whoosh of each breath out. That was until she heard a dull pop that seemed to come from out of nowhere. Sansa glanced to either side of her, looking for the origin of the curious sound when she saw Missandei drop, a thick red dot accenting her forehead, and a splatter of blood on the concrete wall behind her.

There were more of those same killer pops and she was suddenly staring at Jon’s back as he shielded her. With nothing but a wall of navy blue wool in front of her to focus on, Sansa quickly became aware of the gun she held raised. Her arm dropped, not meaning to aim at him. She didn’t remember firing her gun, only the anguish that shredded her to ribbons when she came upon the slut attached to her husband, and the solution to everything in her hand. Sansa zeroed in, seeing only Missandei. Luckily, Jon had spotted the man on her other side. Those were the other shots. As quickly as Jon stood in front of her, he moved to clear the rubble of Missandei and who Sansa could only assume was her boyfriend.

She would have turned her head to admire how quickly he dragged the lifeless bodies from the ground and stuffed them in the trunk of the car, had she not been arrested by a set of familiar green irises. He didn’t speak, merely tilted his head in obvious curiosity. She searched for a smile, even just a hint of one, and found none.

Of course he wouldn’t be smiling. What the hell was she thinking? She wanted to say that she hadn’t meant for that to happen, but the very fact that she brought a gun, said otherwise. Petyr raised his eyebrows, expectantly.

What did he want? What was he waiting for? Her to explain herself? What was there to explain? She’d murdered the only way into the Mormont family in a jealous rage she didn’t entirely remember and was certain she’d never forget. In a moment of weakness, Sansa let emotion rule her actions and single-handedly fuck his plans. _Sorry_ didn’t exactly cut it. Thankfully, an apology for killing some slut was far from what she intended to offer. He was hers and he was cozied up to another. It wasn’t a kinky pretend-fuck game that didn’t last past the dance floor. He had every intention of driving himself deep inside someone else. The thought of it made her eye twitch and her finger mindfully rub the trigger of the gun she still held at her side for comfort.

Apparently giving up, Petyr turned to walk towards the car and panic rose in her throat. “ _No_!” She croaked, her voice hoarse and urgent.

He paused, and dragged his gaze back to hers. His lips thinned as he nurtured the silence between them, affording her one last opportunity to speak. She didn’t know where to begin. This wasn’t anything Varys or Jon could do for her. They’d set her up perfectly, gotten her past her own bullshit, pressured her to act, and now it all came down to her. She had no other option but to tear her own heart out and offer it to him. “Don’t leave. You’re not supposed to leave.”

Giving him no time to respond, though he didn’t look as if he was going to, she blurted, “I want you back. I don’t care about anything that happened before. Right or wrong, I don’t even fucking care.” She waved her gun in the air, treating it more like dead weight than deadly weapon. “I know you’re going to tell me that I left you and I did and I’m sorry. Not that I stood my ground! Because what you did was really shitty and you needed to learn that I won’t be disrespected, not even by you. I know that you’re an important man, but you can also sometimes be a controlling one too, and I don’t take well to that. We’ve talked about it before and you seemed to listen at the time, which I do appreciate but sometimes you forget and I just wanted to remind you that I’m your wife, _your woman_ \--not your bitch.” Her lips pursed as she pointed her gun to the ground, babbling almost incoherently. “I mean, I don’t think you meant to treat me that way, but you did and you can’t. And I think you know that and I probably could have said so better.” She growled in frustration at herself for sounding so crazed. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so worked up by everything that I lost sight of you, _of us._ ”

His eyes sparkled in the streetlight, swallowing her whole as she struggled to find some footing. “You’re my husband. Not for money or show. Or power and position. But because I desire _you_ ! You’re who I vowed to be with.” She sniffed. “Who I had babies for-- _with_ ,” she quickly corrected. “And aren’t they wonderful? Aren’t they?” She gasped. “I could have had a million kids with a hundred different men and they wouldn’t be what Elenei and Durran are, because they are ours. They are you and they are me, the best and the worst, all wrapped in these perfect little people that we created together.” Her mind raced, gathering evidence to prove her point. “You’re the only one who can get Durran to eat when his gums are sore from cutting a new tooth and you make counting fun for Elenei. I don’t. I don’t know how, I just show her the numbers. But you make it fun, you make her actually try. No one else but you.”

Sansa quickly wiped a tear away, determined to carry on. “So fuck you for saying all we can ever be is business partners! We’re partners in _everything_.” She yelled off in the distance, “And no! I don’t think that means we’re codependent, thank you Davos for planting that seed of doubt you know-it all prick!” She glanced back at Petyr, regaining her focus. “I bet his license is fake! And you know what? So what if we are codependent! We’ve always thrived on our closeness. It isn’t a bad thing. We’ve given each other too much of ourselves to just walk away when things are hard.” She gave a sick chuckle and raised her free hand. “Which I know is rich coming from me. I’m the one that handed you walking papers. Well, not literally.”

Petyr’s eyes widened a small fraction of an inch and his pupils constricted.

“Okay, _literally._ I really did that. It was rash and stupid and I didn’t think it through.” She sputtered. “I just, I don’t know. I was so angry and you didn’t care. You didn’t apologize or take me seriously, and you’re definitely not perfect, either. But that doesn’t matter. I mean, who really is? I just--” She took a deep breath, willing the tears away. “I told myself that loving you was wrong. You were a drug I couldn’t get enough of. And I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know.” She pulled her hair back behind her ears. “I just know that if I am addicted to you, then fuck a twelve-step life. Let me relapse! I’d gladly overdose on you.” There was a shrill to her voice she knew she had to control but couldn’t seem to. “There’s no recovering from our life together--what we had.” She licked her lips, a desperate moan escaping with the tears that flowed freely. “ _Please_? Can’t we just give in and trip together?”

He never moved a muscle, unlike the sobbing, heaving mess she’d been reduced to. A reckless anger slipped into her speech as she accused, “You’re as much mine as I am yours; you can’t deny it. _You can’t!_ ” She grit her teeth thinking of the bodies filling her trunk. “I’ll kill anyone that touches you and I won’t stop. I don’t care who or how many, I’ll pop each and every one of them until there’s no one left for you but me.” She sniffed back her congestion, and promised him, “Because you’re the only one for me. _Ever._ ” Running out of things to say, she repeated, “Don’t leave. Just don’t.”

Sansa forced herself to stop, knowing she was rambling. The dispassionate way he declined to respond only verified that she must have sounded like a raving lunatic. Jon at least had the decency to get in the car after he’d loaded the bodies, allowing one less witness to her humiliation. Her heart beat loud in her ears as she waited for Petyr to say something. _Anything._

He didn’t.

She watched him turn and walk away and blinked in disbelief as he opened the car door and got in. Her muscles turned to jelly and her stomach lurched as she staggered back against the hood of her car, holding her head to stop the world spinning.

No matter how hard she gasped, the air wouldn’t reach her lungs.

No. That couldn’t be right. He wasn’t supposed to leave. She’d done everything she could think to do. No more games, no more dignity or saving face. She’d bared herself completely to him, offering more truth and vulnerability than she’d shared with anyone. What more did he want? What more did she have?

A persistent tap made her look over her shoulder. Jon was banging on the windshield to get her attention. Her despondency was interrupted by mild confusion, trying to discern what he was saying. Brows furrowed as she focused on his hands, the steering wheel obstructing her view. Jon’s eyes bulged as he feverishly pointed towards Petyr’s car.

“What?” She mouthed and turned her head.

The door to the backseat had been left open. Petyr hadn’t closed it when he got in. She held her breath, counting to five, sure she’d see his arm reach out and grab the handle to pull it shut. When he didn’t, she took an uncertain step forward. There was no way that he would have forgotten to shut his door and not notice after so long. It had to be intentional.

Each step closer was a war between an excited skip and a reluctant crawl. She had no notion of what she’d find waiting for her in the car and when she leaned in to inspect, was relieved to see that Petyr was alone, seated all the way to the other side. After a couple of seconds of standing there, not knowing if he’d even acknowledge her, he whispered, “ _Get in_.”

Sansa didn’t think twice, not letting her mind get in the way, and quickly slid into the seat beside him. The car took off as soon as she closed the door behind her, and she stopped herself from asking where they were going, knowing it didn’t matter, as long as they were together. It was natural to want to cuddle up to him, but the way he kept his eyes glued to the front seat, warned her to stay to her side.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, not sure if she should say something. There really wasn’t anything else to say, having hysterically vomited it all out in the street. She bit the inside of her cheek and faced forward, following his lead. It surprised her when she felt his palm find hers, so warm and _tangible_. She glanced over to him as he fiddled with the ring on her finger, shifting and wiggling the diamond with his thumb as he held her hand, staring straight ahead.

A rogue tear watered her cheek when she saw his fingers naked, his commitment to her removed. Another tear joined the first in her silent cry, and she turned to the window, hoping to avoid notice. As if he were reading her mind, somehow still sensitive to her needs, Petyr’s hand squeezed hers and pulled it into his lap. Though they spoke no words of promise, and their eyes never met to confirm it, she knew with a certainty only love and loss could bring, that they’d never let go of each other again.


	16. With Great Trepidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the most part, kissing had lost its novelty shortly after puberty, only having excited him in very rare redheaded, mother-of-his-children cases.

Durran’s downy red locks tickled his nose; the baby babbled and softly slapped his chubby little palm against him. Petyr silently swayed back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he’d seen Sansa do a thousand times and done himself just as many. It was time for a feeding, but Petyr would prolong it as long as his son’s hunger would allow. The thought of waking Sansa made him cringe.

It was so much safer and easier when she was sleeping. 

She looked so innocent and peaceful laying in his bed. Crimson tendrils of hair stretched across their pillows, her ivory skin completely worry-wrinkle free. No one would ever believe she was the same woman who bludgeoned a wolf to death, tortured and killed countless rivals, and clawed his heart from his ribcage to feast on, only to then hack it up and leave it spewed on the asphalt. 

Petyr pressed a kiss to Durran’s baby-soft forehead, willing him to stay quiet, needing just a few more minutes of freedom before she woke and enslaved him again. While he’d never once fooled himself into thinking he could move on from her, he’d at least gotten to a place in his head and heart where he’d felt more prepared to stand against her. He would no longer bow down to lick her red-bottoms.

From the moment she walked out on him, everything she did was in an effort to hurt him in one way or another. He’d grown accustomed to her various attacks, not thinking for an instant that their moment of honesty would change a thing. That didn’t stop his thoughts from lingering, his fingers fidgeting for his phone, or his eyes wandering to the feed. Things had been so incredibly pedestrian in the days she stayed under his roof again, that he couldn’t help but wonder when the other shoe would drop. She had to have been plotting something; he was certain. 

It was why when he saw her in his bedroom searching through his drawer, he started to come home, determined to catch her in whatever devious act she was committing. The pole rose from the floor and he stared back at the screen incredulously. Did she know he was coming home? Or perhaps she simply hoped. 

Sansa seemed quite affected by his unwillingness to consider her a partner of any sort, enough so to lead him to wonder more about her intentions. Was it so outlandish of a thought that she would be dancing with the hope that he would soon be returning home? Reason told him to  stop fantasizing, Sansa was selfish and cruel. If she was dancing it was only to burn calories. When he entered his room and she didn’t scurry, however, there was no doubt that she was on display entirely for him. It was oddly gratifying and yet quite depressing. Falling back on the only thing she knew, and felt confident in, she played another game. Some lazy seduction. 

He should have known from the awkward way she climbed in his lap, so uncoordinated, that it was real. Sansa knew his predilections better than anyone, just which ear to nibble and what tempo to rock his lap in. Her allurement would be well-versed and self-assured. The amateur way she dove forward and jammed her tongue in his mouth, however, spoke to how much she meant it. It was as if she was scared that he might throw her off of him before she had the chance to kiss him ever again. 

Too bad that her natural instinct had been to do exactly what she’d warned him would be false. Her fingers and lips grasped where she promised they would. He hated her then for her eyes, suddenly so wide open, as if a babe lost in the woods. She acted like she didn’t know what she was doing, though he was sure at the time that she did. 

It was Sansa, the love of his life, the only woman who could suddenly arouse him with a single bat of the eye, or completely enrage him with the same subtle gesture. Of course she was using her knowledge of his body against him. Hadn’t she used everything else?

He hated her for it and ventured to make her feel as awful as he did, leave her with the same sense of decay that ate at him. He never really realized her sudden bout of nervousness stemmed from an honesty she wasn’t accustomed to. How fitting. He was the liar, but she ended up being the one who squirmed the most in the hot bright light of the truth.

He’d never expected her to appear out of nowhere, killing the woman on his arm before rambling on about their life together and apart. Durran grunted against his chest and Petyr barely noticed, his eyes tracing the outline of Sansa in the large comforter. Less than seven hours prior, she stood in front of him, tears streaking her cheeks as she begged him not to leave her. It was touching and sparked something in him he hadn’t felt since before their separation. She wanted him. Truly. 

It was heartwarming and no matter how much he tried to deny it, it was just what he needed to hear from her. Whether or not they got back together. He’d finally got the closure he needed. Petyr was resolved to walk away, taking her confession with him for comfort, until she vowed to kill anyone that touched him. It was an act of possession rarely seen in Sansa, and it sent the blood rushing straight to his cock, even just over the memory of it. Petyr glanced down at Durran in his arms and instantly felt uncomfortable with the semi-hard erection that was beginning to tent his pants. He pursed his lips, willing it back down. The minute he closed his eyes, he saw the hard set of her jaw as she grit her teeth and promised that she would leave him with no other option but herself if necessary. 

Petyr inhaled through his nose, begging his body not to respond to the memory. Durran’s little hand came up and slapped him in the chin. Rather than feeling irritated by the tiny attack, Petyr was grateful for the distraction and pretended to bite his hand. Durran smiled and shook his head in excitement.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand and Petyr glanced down to see multiple messages from Shae. It was the passcodes, broken up and coded themselves so that they wouldn’t look obvious to what they were. He grinned at the positive step in the right direction and glanced over to see Sansa looking back at him. She must have been woken up by the vibration amplified against the hardwood table. 

He didn’t say a word to her, waiting for her to say something first. Her smile was forced as she peeled the blanket back and climbed out of bed. Petyr’s eyes roved over her body, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn the night before. It was odd to see her wearing clothes in his bed, but it was for the best. 

When they returned the night before, Petyr kept hold of her hand. She’d said so much, and he couldn’t stand to hear another word. Too many emotions ran through him, some conflicting and some unnervingly in agreement. Unsure of what he wanted, he walked her to the room she had been staying in. She looked back at him, her brow wrinkling in silent confusion. Was that where he would leave her? He didn’t know himself. 

He started to release her hand, but her grip tightened on his. She swallowed audibly and opened her mouth. Nothing came out, only a sad look in her eyes. It was too much to take. Petyr averted his gaze as he turned, pulling her along behind him. He didn’t bother to take his clothes off before climbing under the covers, hoping she would keep hers on too. Nudity was a whole different level of vulnerability he didn’t have the energy for. 

Sansa climbed in and rolled over to face him. “Petyr--”

“Shh,” he plead. 

The way she worried her lip made him lean forward and touch his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes to save himself from the sight of her, focusing on the warmth of her head against his, and the scent of her in his bed again. After a couple of minutes, her hand reach down to find his again, as if the temporary lapse in grip would lose him to her forever. He’d always craved that from her, a greedy need to keep her hands on him. Now that he had it, he wasn’t sure he liked it as much as he thought he would.

Her hair was the sad combination of everyday bedhead and the atrocity that desperation and murder made it the night before, wisps straying chaotically from the ponytail she slept in. It definitely wasn’t her best look, and he knew she’d shudder to see herself in the mirror, so he stepped to the side hoping she’d catch her reflection. It was childish, but he couldn’t care. Instantly, her hands flew to her head and he used that distraction to escape down the hall. 

“Bab-bab-bah! Muh-muh-mmm,” Durran protested the hasty departure after catching sight of Sansa. 

Guilt prompted Petyr to kiss his temple and whisper, “Sorry, little man. Let’s listen to some music, shall we?” All the parenting websites had advised him and Sansa to play music for Elenei when she was learning to talk and since she survived her infancy and toddlerhood, he saw no reason not to continue heeding the advice. He quickly pulled out his phone and sent a song to the house’s bluetooth speakers. 

Durran screeched in excitement once he heard the melody, and started kicking his legs as Petyr carried him into the kitchen. The female vocals piped out:  _ Can’t ever keep from falling apart. At the seams. Can’t I believe you’re taking my heart to pieces.  _

“Uh-oh.” 

The there was no mistaking the melodramatic voice that could have only come from his daughter. Petyr sighed and glanced down at the wild tangle of onyx tresses that resembled her mother so closely in style more than coloring. “Yes, Elenei?” 

“It’s your sad music,” she frowned. 

Petyr scoffed, “I don’t have  _ sad _ music.”

“Yes, you do!” She argued. “You always listen to the ‘Who do you want’ song when you make a sad face.”

“I do not.” 

_ Who do you need? Who do you love? When you come undone! _

The evidence stated otherwise. 

“Well, I do  _ not  _ make a sad face,” Petyr insisted as he poured water into the coffeemaker. 

Elenei skipped over to him. “Yep, you do. And you’re supposed to be happy. Mum had a slumber party in your room last night.” 

“Did she?” Petyr raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?” 

She shrugged. “Cause she wasn’t in her room this morning.” Elenei opened a cupboard down below and pulled out a box of cereal. “Are Durran and I supposed to share a room soon?” 

“What?” Petyr furrowed his brow in honest curiosity. 

Elenei strained to reach and slide the box on the countertop. “Because you and Mum shared a bedroom and then when she got back from working, she had to stay in Uncle Bran’s old room. She said it’s because you snored.” 

“What? If anything, she’s the one who--”

“But now you guys gotta share again.” Elenei ignored his indignation. 

Petyr bit the inside of his cheek. 

“So naturally, you wanted to know if you have to share with Durran?” Sansa’s voice filled his ears. All the easiness felt at the private moment with his daughter drained away, allowing the tension of his relationship with his ex-wife(wife?) to fill him. She grinned as she crouched down to give Elenei a kiss in her periwinkle robe, concealing any indecency. Petyr only then noticed her hair wet and fresh from what had to have been the fastest shower of her life. He was glad to be spared any awkwardness that showertime may have created. The woman had already wormed her way into his bed with her sad expression and undignified display. Sansa mussed Elenei’s hair and said, “Of course you don’t have to share.”

He didn’t know why, but all of a sudden he felt the need to pull his phone from his pocket and hit the next song. If his child could read him, he was certain Sansa could as well. 

_ Look now. Look all around. There’s no sign of life! _

Shit. He hadn’t expected that. Sansa’s soft chuckle made him dart his glance her way. She slowly approached, wearing a grin Petyr didn’t feel entirely comfortable with. “Durran’s song.”

“Mm,” he mumbled, trying to dismiss the significance of it. “Coffee’s on.” 

“Thanks,” she said with much more hope in her eyes than a cup of coffee warranted. He was relieved of her expression when her phone sounded with a text message. 

Whatever promise she felt was soon gone, replaced with a grimace. He wanted to ignore it, focus on the squirming child in his arms and the music in the background. Instead, he instinctively asked, “Who is it?” 

She glanced up at him and shook her head. “No one.”

Lies. 

His jaw tightened and he pursed his lips, repeating his question. “Who is it?”

“Uh-oh, Mum. Daddy’s got his mad voice on!” Elenei was only too helpful. 

Sansa scoffed. “It’s nothing--no one.” 

“Then let me see,” Petyr challenged. 

“ _ Yeah!” _ Elenei butt her little head in again. 

Sansa glared at him for a moment that felt like much longer than it should have, before she barked,  _ “Here! _ ” Her phone pressed into his palm and he had no other option but to accept it. He stood stunned, gripping the phone as she reached for Durran to pull him out of his arms. She refused to make eye contact as she explained, “He must be hungry.” 

Petyr tried not to gape at her as she turned towards the dining table, holding their smallest closely. They matched so severely, no denying their genetic link. Elenei grabbed the milk out of the fridge, emitting minor curses over the heft to the jug, reminding Petyr more of Arya than anyone else. He punched in Sansa’s passcode, making no effort to hide that he knew it without having to ask. Within seconds he was reading Cersei’s latest message to Sansa,  _ Did Baelish at least spit on his dick before he raped that tight little virgin ass of yours? The things you’ll suffer to avoid me... _

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sansa had allowed many things in their sex life, but anal wasn’t one of them. He honored her wish, having already explored that territory in the past and not finding the discrepancy between pleasure great enough to warrant the undercurrent of shit-stench. 

That wasn’t to say that he wouldn’t still give her a good go up her ass, or likewise breathe through a finger or two up his own, if she wanted. It simply wasn’t a part of their intimacy. To see a message that assumed it was, meant that either Sansa had at some point expressed an interest, in which case, he wished she’d shared that with him. Or, it meant that Cersei was being cruel. Judging by the way Sansa avoided his gaze, coaxing Durran to her breast, the later was more likely. He scrolled backwards, reading more. “How long has she been taunting you?” 

“See for yourself,” she grunted. No doubt embarrassed.

Petyr read Cersei’s words implying that Sansa was cowardly, and using him for his ability to protect her from the Lannister wrath. He glanced up at her as she cooed down to Durran, “Come on, now. I know you’re hungry.” 

Durran slapped at her chest and shook his head, latching only for seconds at a time before letting go. 

“OH NO!” Elenei cried and Petyr glanced over to the counter, watching milk spill over the side of it. 

His eyes narrowed on her. 

She gave a bashful grin. “Sorry, Daddy.” 

“You’re supposed to ask for help with the milk. Aren’t you?” He asked rhetorically as he grabbed the paper towels. 

Her fingers twisted as she nervously played with her hands. “Yes.” 

“Why didn’t you wait?” He asked, ripping off the pieces of paper and dropping them in the puddle to sponge them up. 

“I wanted to do it myself!” Elenei insisted. 

Petyr sighed, “I know, but it’s too heavy.” 

“Nuh-uh. Auntie Aerie says I can have muscles as big as hers and be just as strong.” She crossed her arms, certain. 

Petyr grimaced thinking of the way Arya got her muscular build. He wanted more for his princess than one barroom brawl after another. No one could help the man who dared deal her her first punch. He shook his head. “That day is not today.” 

Having not been privy to his inner thoughts, Elenei groaned in frustration. Though, even if she  had been aware of what he was thinking, there was no saying she still wouldn’t have turned on her heel and stomped out of the kitchen. His daughter was so  headstrong. 

“What about breakfast?” Sansa asked, looking up at Petyr. 

“She’ll come back,” he sighed and then returned his attention to the conversation they’d been having. “You must tell me when Cersei contacts you.” 

“Whatever she says doesn’t really matter,” Sansa argued. 

“I disagree.” He knew it was pride that ruffled her feathers. In all their time together she tried to  convince him of how little Cersei affected her. He knew better. Sansa didn’t deal well with other females, and Cersei filled some sort of need in her.

Sansa huffed. “Look, it’s fine. She’s just upset.” She shifted uncomfortably on the dining room chair, obviously struggling to get Durran to settle in for a good steady feed. 

Petyr drew a deep breath. “She’s always been a wild card. It’s important that we both know what she’s up to at all times. Full disclosure.” 

She raised her head to look up at him. “Like partners?” 

She was grasping at straws, but what else did she have? He’d barely spoke a word to her other than to insist she share her personal communications with him. If it would relax her enough to open up, he would give her this.  _ “Yes _ .”  

Dimples impressed upon her cheeks for the first time in weeks and Petyr felt his own heart ache for it. How beautiful she was in the throes of unrestrained joy. He hated to pay any heed to Cersei’s words, but wasn’t sure if he could trust Sansa wanted back in his arms out of love. The woman had a target on her head, and while the Baelishes had been a more favorable house to the people, the Lannisters had become the largest since their split. Petyr had never pitted his men against Sansa’s, not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind in more sour moments, but he had kept them back. It was a scattered unfaithful north against half the city, with the east sitting on the sidelines watching for the moment they were forced to engage. Standing at his side would rejoin the north and the east and effectively save her ass. 

Was this simply a power play?

_ You’re the only one who can get Durran to eat when his gums are sore from cutting a new tooth and you make counting fun for Elenei...No one else but you. _

Were they words chosen to affect him the most? He couldn’t be sure anymore. The tears seemed real, but then again didn’t they always? That wasn’t to say that Sansa had ever shed fake tears that he was aware of. No. It wasn’t her style. She manipulated him through her sex, not sorrow. “She’s made it clear that she believes your desire to reconcile is mere survival instinct.” 

“She knows nothing,” Sansa scowled, shifting Durran to her other breast. “Especially not what’s between us.” 

Petyr swallowed. He wanted to ask what was between them, but felt that it was rather up to him to decide. If only he could. Sansa was the woman he’d truly wanted in life, and he knew he’d never want another like he wanted her again. Petyr also knew that she was the only person capable of crushing him at her will. What man in his right mind would keep such a threat so close? Then again, what man would allow such a woman so far from his side? 

He glanced back at Sansa, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she wrestled with Durran. “Maybe he’s weaning himself.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “No. Ten month olds don’t wean themselves. It’s too soon for that.” 

Petyr didn’t disagree with her, but resolved to look it up. It took self-control not to pull his phone out and do and internet search right there on the spot. Being right in that moment was neither necessary or the best move to make. Unable to think of what to say or do, he took a couple of steps forward and handed her phone back to her. “Tell me whenever she contacts you.” 

“Eh! Ah! Eck-kah,” Durran squawked. 

“Fine. Have it your way,” Sansa groaned and tucked herself back in her robe. Petyr wondered if she was talking to him or the baby until he saw her sad expression as she kissed Durran’s head. He looked away quickly, allowing her the private moment of disappointment,  and reached for the baby cereal out of the cupboard. He also grabbed the jar of puree pears when she approached, Durran on her hip. The fact that she never responded to his clear directive didn’t slip Petyr’s attention. 

He decided not to press the matter, however, knowing that he could always find out whatever he wanted regardless of whether or not she was in agreement. Her voice broke him from his thoughts. “Petyr...we should talk.”

Hadn’t she said enough the night before? The idea of dredging up all that emotion again was less than appealing. Quickly, he shook his head. “There’s nothing more to say.” 

Her surprised expression told him how much she doubted that. To stop her from saying as much he turned away from her, speaking dismissively into the cupboards, “We’re together. There’s not much else to discuss.” 

“Are we?” She asked over his shoulder. 

Petyr drew a deep breath and closed the cabinet. He had left the car door open, rode home with her. He held her hand, and lead her to his room. He spent all night staring at her, running his finger tips over her face and burrowing his nose in her hair. Sure, a considerable portion of the time that he laid there, he hated her. That didn’t mean that there weren’t moments that he didn’t, or that he ever actually shoved her off the bed. Even if the thought crossed his mind a few times over the hours. “Yes, Sansa.”

When he didn’t hear a response, he turned around. She stood inches away, Durran still on her hip as she spooned pears into his contented grin. Petyr envied the baby’s blissful ignorance and the easy way his mother loved him. If he thought her silence was born of some hyperfocus on nourishing Durran, he was definitely wrong. She stared back at Petyr as she lifted each spoonful, her insecurity playing on her face. Her words were hardly above a whisper as she pointed out, “You’ve barely touched me and scarcely said a word.” 

Petyr felt his blood boil. “What do you want from me? He growled. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours--fuck, less than _ twelve, _ since you laid all that shit on me. You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t feel like grabbing your tits and screaming my love for you on a rooftop somewhere.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Her cheeks grew red. “I just mean maybe we should talk about what happened. Find some common ground. Come to some agreements going forward.” 

“ _ Agreements _ ?” His jaw tightened. “What angle are you playing?” 

“I’m not playing any angle!” She exclaimed. 

The woman only ever played games, how was he to know what was real and what wasn’t? He’d have never in a million years imagined that she’d walk out on him, and then one day she did. Her word was no good anymore. “You asked me not to leave you.” He was proud of himself for not calling a spade a spade and saying that she sobbingly begged him. Petyr leaned in, emphasizing every word through clenched teeth, “ _ And I didn’t _ .” 

Stunned by his sudden ferocity, she stared back at him speechless. 

He took the opportunity of her silence to add, “Call me a terrible man--a failure as a husband, all you want. But  _ I stayed _ !” 

Despite his better judgment.

Sansa blinked back tears that he couldn’t bother to acknowledge. The passion left him as he shook his head. “What is there really to agree on?” 

Discussion was critical in determining how they would proceed. He didn’t need Davos to tell him that. A person had to be in the right frame of mind to have that sort of conversation and have it be productive. Petyr simply was not in that place. 

She wiped away at the tear that escaped. “It’s like you’re angry that we’re  _ not _ getting a divorce.” 

He was. 

And he wasn’t. 

Damn that woman for the conflicting emotions she created in him. He spoke through pursed lips. “It’s going to take time for us to feel all warm and fuzzy.” It took effort to keep his voice from rising as he added, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

She blinked, the blue in her eyes was suddenly so vibrant that Petyr fought against the dull burn in his own eyes, similar to the one that looking directly into the sun created. It was with no little amount of effort that he managed not to avert his gaze. Her eyes dried, and her voice lowered as she challenged, “Kiss me.” 

She’d barely gotten the words out before goosebumps covered his flesh, leery at the very idea of it. Petyr cursed himself for being so reactive. What did a kiss matter? For the most part, kissing had lost its novelty shortly after puberty, only having excited him in very rare redheaded,  _ mother-of-his-children _ cases. 

Kissing Sansa would be like letting go of whatever relationship debris he clung to, in an effort to stay afloat. He’d press his lips to hers and sink back down into the murky depths of complete and utter devotion. The seaweed would wind around him and trap him to the rock bottom, expectation and disappointment drowning him. Petyr felt his heart speed up as he considered the cost of a single kiss. Would he sink again? Or would this time be different? 

“Uncle Varys is here!” Elenei burst into the kitchen gleefully. 

Sansa gasped in surprise and jumped back a step. Petyr closed his eyes and thanked Varys for saving him from finding out. 

“I apologize for interrupting,” Varys spoke in the doorway. 

Sansa smiled. “Not at all.”

“It must be something important.” Though Petyr was grateful for the distraction, he couldn’t allow Sansa to see just how chicken he was. It was easy to sound annoyed with Varys, if he only considered his feelings regarding his marriage. 

“It is.” Varys nodded, and then glanced over at Elenei. “Best that we talk alone.” 

Sansa grabbed Elenei’s bowl of cereal off the counter and set it at the table. Varys turned away from Elenei and leaned in. “It’s Stark Naked.” 

“What about it?” Sansa asked, rather alarmed, proving her perfect hearing.

“It’s been hit in a driveby. Jorah Mormont was seen hanging out the window of a black car, unloading a clip into the storefront.” Varys gave Sansa a meaningful look. “Apparently, Dany isn’t taking the loss of her right hand Missandei very well at all.”

Sansa’s jaw set. “So what? It’s just bullets. We’ll open tomorrow. Business as usual.” 

Vays shook his head sadly. “You can’t.” 

“Just why not?” Sansa’s voice started to raise and Petyr gave her a sympathetic look. It was obvious why things at Stark Naked couldn’t be business as usual for quite a little while. 

Drivebys meant crime scene tape. Stannis and his people would be making it look good for the cameras. More than that, though, it was Sansa’s business and it had been shot up. There was no way in hell that Petyr would allow her to return there while the city was at war. He didn’t know what they were doing, but he did know without any doubt that he wasn’t letting go of her or whatever it was they had, ever again. 

“It’s not safe,” Petyr replied. 

Her voice grew irritable as she argued, “Then let’s make it safe.” 

“Agreed. We need to put an end to Dany, but she’s supported by the Lannisters,” Petyr explained. “In order to go up against such force we’ll need to call--”

“Our families. I know.” Sansa cut him off. 

“Do you?” 

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about calling a meeting between your territories and mine for a little bit now.” 

Had she? How long had she been thinking of calling a meeting? They only reunited the night before, so she had to have been planning a meeting when they still weren’t together. Had she just expected that they would reconcile? That he would listen to her cry and instantly fold, giving her everything? 

“What’s wrong?” She eyed him, sensing something was amiss. 

“Nothing.” 

“Bullshit,” she insisted. “What are you thinking? Full disclosure, remember?” 

He fumed for a moment and then asked, “How long have you just been assuming that we’d get back together?”

“What?” She shook her head in confusion. “I didn’t. I haven’t. Petyr, I thought a meeting would be good to increase communication between the major families of our territories. Even if we never got back together, we were still allied. Weren’t we?”

He kept the expression out of his face, attempting to mask his struggle. Petyr wanted to believe her, wanted to think that she hadn’t run to him simply for protection. He needed to believe she returned to him for all of the reasons she testified to, murderous hands sullied with the death of the unsuspecting woman he was meant to seduce. “Call your men, then.” Petyr glanced over to Varys. “Round up ours.” 

Varys nodded and left as quickly as he came. Sansa reached for her phone and started punching the various numbers in. Petyr leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, surveying the room. Elenei happily ate her breakfast while Sansa set Durran in his walker and proceeded to pour herself a cup of coffee as she texted one-handed. It was all so very domestic and routine. The familiarity of how things were before teased him. Could it really be that easy? Everyone would fall into their places and it would be like the last month never happened. 

Except that it had happened. Petyr’s empty bed consumed him for too many nights. Alcohol on it’s own had served as most meals. All the awful things they’d said and done to each other still ravaged his memory. Missandei, or at least his intentions towards her, couldn’t be so easily overlooked either. He never would have pursued the girl if Sansa had only reached out to him sooner. He hated her for that, blaming every touch and kiss on her pride and hesitation. 

Anger and sadness gripped his stomach, knotting it up tightly. He mumbled that he was going to take a shower and all but ran down the hall. So long he’d been resentful, souring everything he saw and did. The warmth of the family that filled his kitchen, the family that he’d wanted more than anything else in the world, was suddenly too much and he didn’t know how to handle it anymore.

Locked away in his bathroom, phone pressed to his ear as he breathed through the anxiety that provoked such a physical response, Petyr listened to Davos’ soothing voice. “It’s natural that you would feel reluctant. From your point of view the only woman that’s ever accepted you since you were a baby discarded you as easily as your mother had. That alone is hard to cope with. But then for her to want you back after all that. Of course you would feel nervous about letting her back in.” 

Petyr didn’t appreciate the presumption that Sansa had thrown him away like one would a used tissue, but knew it was probably the most accurate description. Rather than admitting as much, Petyr asked, “So, what comes next?” 

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Davos smiled through the phone. It was comforting somehow to hear that even Davos, a trained expert didn’t know. “You can’t keep walking on eggshells.” Obviously. “At some point, you have to decide if you want to work through these feelings and reconnect with her, or if you’ve been too hurt to salvage things.” 

Petyr sighed. “I took her back. I’m clearly going to make things work. But, how long will it take?” 

“There is no time limit on emotions, Petyr. Talk to her. Keep communicating.”

No. He couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. He was already so overwhelmed by what she told him that he wasn’t sure he could take adding anymore insight to the situation at the moment. “Thank you, Davos.” He hung up before he could listen to the man protest such an abrupt dismissal. 

The hours passed and Petyr considered Davos’ words. Varys messaged him from time to time to tell him that various families had been contacted. Each time Sansa’s phone went off, he looked up like a puppy conditioned to the sound of food. She would glance over at him, noticing his sudden interest. He could see her try to decide whether she would give into his need to know, telling him who it was, or maintain her independence and insist that it wasn’t his business. 

Either the information was deemed benign enough or she truly wanted to put his mind at ease, because she allowed him an explanation for each call. Her families were rallying as well, dropping everything to meet at the agreed upon location. It made sense after she ousted Umber and her personal art gallery had been attacked. The north would want to sniff her for any weakness.

When Varys and Olyvar arrived, Jon in tow behind them, Petyr knew it was time to go. Jon  looked much better, though still quite tragic. All he needed to do was stand by Sansa, show his support and his force. Varys would do whatever heavy lifting was required of a right for the both of them. Petyr quietly excused himself to search his closet, opening each accessory drawer.

“Are you looking for this?” Sansa startled him.

Unbenounced to him, she’d followed him back to his-- _ their _ room. A small part of him prickled at the violation in his privacy, but the feeling subsided when he reminded himself that he’d welcomed her back. Forcing his eyes to focus on the shiny object in her hand, he discovered it to be his wedding ring. He’d taken it off and tucked it away when he set his sights on Missandei. The idea of wearing it as he slid his hand further up her thigh felt wrong, no matter how broken up he and Sansa were. 

“Yes,” he admitted and then reached for it. “I wanted to show a united front again.” 

Her arm swung back, glaring at him. “Oh, no.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck the families. Fuck appearances,” she growled. 

His brow furrowed, and he gave a sarcastic chuckle. “It was that kind of thinking that killed the only possible Mormont informant and lead to the destruction of your parent’s gallery. Let’s not be impulsive here, Sansa.” 

She shook her head, dismissing his attempt to hide behind the logic of business and false confidence. Her eyes absolutely glowed blue flames as she insisted, “Don’t wear it unless you mean it.”

His mouth went dry, and he cleared his throat and swallowed. “What makes you think I don’t?” 

Her voice broke. “You won’t talk to me, and you can’t even kiss me. I don’t know why I’m here if you don’t want me.” 

A sudden rage drew his body taut as he clenched his fists at his side. She was absolutely infuriating. He wanted to scream at her, ask her if she was completely crazy. Did she not see that he wanted her beyond rationality? He broke all his rules for her, just to have her at his side again. She was his, whether he could stand having her or not. There was no question of  _ want _ .

Her shoulders slumped and she turned away from him. He wanted to run full force at her, knock her down to the floor, hike her skirt up and yank his pants down. He would lose himself in the frost of her eyes and the warmth of her body as he claimed primal possession of her mere minutes before facing all the families that did their bidding. 

Only, he couldn’t. His hand lifted and he caught her arm. She stilled and glanced over her shoulder at him. There was a frog in his throat as he promised, “ _ I mean it _ .”

Sansa turned to face him, searching for any indication that he was lying. There was none, and when she realized that, she reached for his hand. Petyr glanced down to see her bring the ring to his fingertip. She wet her lips and the movement brought his gaze back up to her face. She looked so apprehensive, so shy as she slid the ring back on his finger. 

He wavered forward, wanting to catch the back of her head and pull her into a reassuring kiss. Whether it would reassure her more or him, he wasn’t certain. The weight of the ring settled on his finger and he felt both whole and overflowing. There was a hunger in her eyes that made him shamelessly tingle in anticipation of being devoured by her. 

She let her lids flutter closed as she offer her lips. Petyr’s eyes stung dry, having forgotten to blink, too taken by the beauty of her eagerness for his kiss. He was leaning in when an awful thought crossed his mind. 

Sansa had come back of her own accord. Nothing he said or did convinced her to return to him. He hadn’t won her, any fight he put up was completely useless. She randomly decided one day that she wanted to stay Baelish. Reason dictated that she could easily decide also that she didn’t want to be with him all over again. What confidence could he ever hope to have if she’d come and gone on her own whim? Nothing he’d tried worked to any degree.

Petyr straightened, letting the space between them grow again. “We should be on our way.”

Her eyes opened, confusion and disappointment fought for dominance on her expression. Petyr turned away and strode out the door quickly, not letting himself see the rejection that won out. The metal band on his finger was a hot brand, reminding him that when she hurt, so too did he. 

When they arrived at the meeting place, the tension in the air was thick and suffocating. All the families were there, both greater and lesser. The Manderleys and Karstarks held the highest ranking in the north, and beneath them were the Glovers and the Reeds. The Royces and the Graftons represented the majority of Petyr’s eastern interests, though the lesser Corbrays and Waynwoods were still in attendance. 

Varys and Jon walked ahead of them, trailblazing through the smog of cigarette smoke, panic, and cutthroat opportunity. The families were in a frenzy, having only ever been involved in small-scale skirmishes over various turf sizes. On rare occasion, one territory would take out another, though typically no greater than a dozen city blocks or so. Taking a boss was usually an isolated event that made mob history. 

This was so much more severe. The Lannisters owned an entire half of the city. Should Sansa and Petyr not ally, neither territory stood a chance against a force so great. While people favored the Baelishes, the Lannisters were at least consistent, not so on-again, off-again. It would take time to calm and control the chaos. A quick glance to Sansa left Petyr wondering how he could ever doubt her fortitude. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head, an undaunting smirk on her lips as she eyed the crowd. Her hand gripped his openly, allowing everyone the chance to see where her loyalties lie. 

It was Reed who threw the first stone, striking Sansa directly. “You crawl back to a man who undermines your bargains so easily.” 

Petyr had not expected that at all, and felt himself bristling. Royce glowered at Howland for his insolence, Bronzy’s boys stood close by, at the ready. It was a subtle gesture, but Petyr waved his hand in dismissal. He opened his mouth to respond, with what he wasn’t sure, but was always confident he could come up with something sufficient on the fly. It was Sansa’s voice that sounded, however.

“I’ve never not aligned myself with Petyr. Regardless of whatever has happened in our personal lives. Both the north and the east sides of the city have benefitted from our alliance for the past seven years. Your family included. How quickly you forget the support Petyr offered with the police when all those bodies were recovered from your swamp.”

It was Jyana who hissed at her husband’s side. “Bodies disposed of for northern families.”

Petyr watched Sansa’s lips curl. “Tell me, Reeds. How often are loyalties forgotten in the presence of the law?”

Jyana looked fit to murder, but Howland stayed her with an arm around her waist and a warning scowl. Petyr shifted his gaze back to Sansa, realizing this pissing contest never would have happened had he not thoughtlessly broken their agreement with Meera’s parents. 

The Reeds were the most faithful of servants, and the quietest. They kept to themselves and cleaned the messes the Stark Wolf Pack brought them. In Sansa’s reign that hadn’t changed any, offering adequate dumping grounds for Bronn to drop various contracts. While the Reeds weren’t entirely necessary, they held a place of esteem and their voice was always heard amongst Sansa’s people. Perhaps it was because they hardly ever used it. Or perhaps it was because they were known to be the most devoted. Petyr couldn’t place his finger on it, but whatever the reason, when the Reeds spoke up, people listened. And now they were listening to the most loyal house she had, openly question her authority. All due to him and his own stupid sentimentality towards Bran. 

“The only reason you still have any land to call your own anymore is because the activity on it has been overlooked with the help of our eastern alliance.” Sansa made a show of leaning over and pecking a quick kiss to Petyr’s hand. Her words were sharp as she insisted, “And don’t you ever forget it.” 

Whatever timidity she displayed back at the house had left her. She was quite the sight to behold before everyone, fearless and proud. Sansa would apologize to no one and skewer anyone who implied she should explain herself. Petyr felt his palms itch to touch her, lay his hands on such supremacy. He quickly extinguished the thought, feeling like he wouldn’t know where to start anymore. 

To keep himself from gaping at her and losing the support of his own men, Petyr raised his voice. “The question of whether or not it is acceptable for the north and the east to ally is not on the table. It’s a matter of fact. You can choose to stay comfortable in your places, or join the ash in our wake as we rid this city of Lannisters once and for all.”

Glover had the courage to say what many thought. “We’ve enjoyed peace with them for years now.”

As expected whenever Grafton was in attendance, he showed his allegiance to Petyr by silently threatening anyone in opposition of him. Petyr snickered at the glare Gerald leveled Robett with and spoke before Glover could gain any momentum for his argument. “Everyone knows the Lannisters are  _ imbalanced _ . Even more so since the loss of their children. It was only a matter of time before they lost all sanity and bit the hand that fed them.” 

Silence filled the air as everyone considered the truth in that. Petyr turned to Sansa as he spoke. “You all know about the attack on Sansa’s family. The girl,  _ Ygritte’s _ death.” He avoided looking at Jon as he said it, knowing he’d be affected by such blunt mention of his love’s name. “They struck first. Attacked us in our homes!” 

“That does not make us weak,” Sansa called out. “It makes our revenge _ righteous! _ ”

“We’ll put them down like the rabid beasts they’ve become.” Petyr returned his gaze to Glover. “What was it you said of peace, Robett?” 

The man frowned and rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought. “Tommen, sweet boy that he was, was never fit for the life.” His face set hard in determination. “And the oldest, Joffrey was no loss to anyone.” 

There was a murmured buzz throughout the crowd, ranging in responses from soft chuckles to mumbled agreements. Petyr took the opportunity of their comradery to wave his surprise forward. Though Sansa remained stock-still, her eyes darted to the back of the room, curious. He hadn’t included her in this, and while he knew he should have, he was still leery of sharing anything at all with her.

The crowd parted, and a bowed head of grey cropped hair slowly emerged. The cheap utilitarian Men’s Warehouse suit trademark of Stannis became visible. Petyr clasped his shoulder and widened his grin. “Police Commissioner Baratheon has been made aware of the current state of affairs in the city and has been awarded full pardon to arrest and prosecute--”

“Arrest? Prosecute?” Karstark balked. 

Manderly cleared his throat. “We don’t want the police to get too big for their britches now…” 

“You’d know about getting too big, wouldn’t ya?” Lyn, one of Corbray’s sons laughed. 

Wylis reached for the gun on his hip, glowering at the pretty boy. Wyman smiled proudly at his son’s desire to defend him. Lyn flicked his cigarette and set his hand on the hilt of his own pistol, before blowing Wylis a kiss. “Try it, Pornstache. I dare ya.”

Petyr could feel Sansa tense beside him. Before she had the chance to interject, as he knew she would feel responsible to do, he laughed loudly. Heads turned to see what he found so amusing, certain it couldn’t possibly be the very serious confrontation about to go down. “Oh, Lyn. You’d be the one to notice a man’s _ size _ , wouldn’t you?” Petyr quipped, his tone much darker than conversational. 

Silence filled the air as all families respected the not so subtle way Petyr disciplined one of his own. Lyn sneered at him and adjusted his blazer to better cover his holster. The feel of Sansa’s delicate hand wrapping around his bicep, pulled Petyr’s attention to her soft chirp beside him. “You were saying?”

His smile didn’t touch his eyes, not that any of them would have noticed. “I was just trying to tell everyone that Stannis will be shining a rather large spotlight on all illegal activities enacted by either Lannister or Mormont. All other families will experience continued immunity.” 

Petyr slapped Stannis’ back. “Isn’t that right?” 

Stannis stared back at him, his eyes the darkest shade of blue Petyr had ever seen as he drew a shaky breath and loosened his tie. “That’s correct.” 

“You can do better,” Sansa smirked. 

Petyr eyed her, surprised. She’d had no prior knowledge of his schemes with Stannis, yet she went along with them as if they were her own. 

Stannis cleared his throat and turned his head to look out at the deadly crowd. “There is no organized crime in this city. There hasn’t been for many years. Certainly, not since I’ve come to office. It’s well established that I have zero tolerance towards this particular issue.”

One by one, faces turned to Petyr, all recognizing Commissioner Baratheon’s press speech. Petyr held up a hand to silence them before they dared to make a sound. Stannis pressed on. “It has recently come to my attention that the long respected Lannister family has had some illegal dealings overseas with a family that goes by the name Mormont. Rest assured, citizens of Westeros, my officers will root out these toxic people and cleanse our city of crime once again.” 

Grins and chuckles broke out in the crowd as Stannis added, “There will be retaliation, so please stay in your homes where it is safe. A special task force has been put together with the sole purpose of incarcerating all affiliated Lannisters and Mormonts. We ask for your patience and understanding during this time as less emphasis will be placed on lesser criminal offenses.”

Royce clapped, and his three sons followed suit. “Brilliant.” 

“Did I just hear that right?” Glover asked. 

Karstark grinned. “Free license to pillage.” 

“All points south and west,” Petyr corrected. 

Sansa sighed, “And keep it to Lannister establishments. We’ll want to absorb the people afterward, can’t do that if we’ve burned their homes down.” 

“Did you hear that, Bronzy?” Grafton teased.

Royce snarled, “My boys know not to burn apartment buildings anymore.”

And so it went on like that, one family jabbing at another until Sansa apparently had enough. “I believe my husband and I have not only made the situation clear, but also our expectations. Don’t disappoint.” 

Petyr smirked at how easily she dismissed them. Sansa squeezed his hand and licked her lips for the onlookers. Her eyes stripped him naked, her voice turned sultry as she said, “Come on, baby. Let’s go home.”

She pulled him alongside her and he flashed everyone the smug smile of a prized stud. The minute they were out of sight, she dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. I was just so over that meeting. Between the Reeds and the constant dick-measuring contest that every--”

His lips were on hers, swallowing her startled cry. Petyr couldn’t explain the sudden pressing need to kiss her, but figured his instincts didn’t require reason, only gut feeling. It should have started as a taste after having been apart from her for so long, but it was so far beyond a  sample that one couldn’t tell whether it was the same kiss or a series of them linked.

She had been marvelous in there, so strong and competent. He dug his fingers in her hair and encouraged her soft mewls of pleasure with the massage of his tongue. He’d backed her against the car and not even realized it until Oswell opened the door beside them. Barely aware of anything or anyone but Sansa, Petyr let his hands slide down to her hips and turned her towards the open door. He nudged her into the backseat, refusing to break from their kiss even when she bumped her head on the hood of the car. 

“ _ Petyr, _ ” she panted when he moved to her neck. He remembered her declaration that she’d murder anyone that came between them and he let his hands roam the planes of her body, aching for the regency it emitted. “ _ Yes _ .” 

He agreed.  _ Yes _ . Very much so.

Petyr reached down and adjusted himself to better address his desire as he massaged one breast. She’d wrapped her arms around him, her legs automatically spreading. The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils and he let go of himself to travel the thighs she’d opened to him. About to trail kisses down her neck, he was stalled when the image of her naked in his room came to mind. The sour look on her face stung him as she said, _ It’s just fucking kink, okay? _

She’d said that sometimes she wanted him to dominate her, be that strong powerful man who slaughtered any potential rival and fucked her forcibly into oblivion. He wouldn’t deny that the urge was quite strong to hold her hands behind her back and buck into her until she cried tears of release.

She’d also said that she got off on nurturing him, being gentle and taking care of him with slow, meaningful love-making when he was vulnerable. Was he vulnerable now? Davos seemed to think so. Did that mean she meant to care for him by giving him her body in the backseat of his car? The last thing Petyr wanted was a pity fuck.

“ _ Petyr _ ?” She asked, the flush still deep in her cheeks. 

He felt caught, unsure what she wanted. Petyr had always felt confident in their sex before, though questioned now. What if she wanted one thing and he gave her another? What did he want? Petyr drew a deep breath and lifted his head to look at her. 

All the passion had left them both as she stared back at him anxiously. Whatever moment they had was long gone. Petyr sat back in his seat, trying to ignore how disheveled she looked beside him. He’d been so caught up in her beauty and the undivided leadership they showed together. Kissing her felt right, touching her felt familiar, wanting her was simply standard. He cursed his body’s automated response to her, and adjusted his pants again. He growled towards the window. “I’m not in the mood.” 

“What?” She gasped.

He pursed his lips. “You heard me.”

“And you could have fooled me.” 

Petyr held his tongue, keeping any witty comeback to himself. She was hurt. So was he. He didn’t know how to please her anymore, or even if he wanted to. The woman reached deep inside, tore him to shreds, and then scrambled his insides. All with a look. Fuck if she wasn’t going to be the death of him someday. Judging by the hot waves of lividity that radiated from her  side of the seat, it may be sooner rather than later. 

She was out of the car the moment they arrived home. He’d scarcely had a chance to turn to her before she was through the garage door and bounding up the hall. She was running from him. That was obvious enough. It was hard to blame her with how hot and cold he was running. He blamed his heart, roaring to life at her attention, and then freezing in fear of losing it.

Sansa had gone out on a limb for him, killing Missandei, begging him not to leave. Even when she could have easily thrown her hands up and let him handle everything again, she stood up to Reed, a problem she wouldn’t have if it weren’t for him, and supported everything he said in front of everyone. She deserved some effort on his part, even if it was terrifying to try. Sansa could easily give up on him and walk away again. Who was to say she wouldn’t? Particularly after he’d just treated her so coldly. 

He found her at her vanity, brushing her hair with a ferocity that he worried may leave her bald. Her lips pursed as she glared at her own reflection. She pretended not to notice him in her mirror, but Petyr knew better than that. No one was ever that mad at themselves. As he watched her, he let her words from the night before run through his head. 

_ You make counting fun for Elenei. I don’t. I don’t know how... _

Knowing instantly what to do, Petyr walked over to the safe in their bedroom and spun the combination to open in. To Sansa’s credit, she didn’t look up, though he knew she was tracking his movement. He pulled one black velvet lined drawer out and set it on the vanity in front of her.

She looked down and scoffed, “What’s this?” 

“What does it look like?” He asked patiently.

“My jewelry.” 

He nodded. 

“Why did you take my best pieces from the safe?” She turned around to face him. 

Petyr leaned over her, freely sniffing her hair as he did. He tapped the necklace she’d worn on their wedding day. “How many sapphires are there in this necklace?” 

“I don’t know.” She shook her head in confusion. 

“Count them.”

She eyed him. “What?” 

He leaned over her further still, this time pecking a kiss to the crown of her head. “How about this one? How many diamonds?”

She blinked. “Petyr, what are you doing?”  

He brought his hands to her shoulders and looked at her reflection in the mirror as he explained, “There two things Elenei loves most right now: being sneaky and shiny things.”

Sansa glanced down at the tray of invaluable jewelry and then back up at him. Petyr pressed his fingers into her shoulders and neck, gently massaging. “We wait until you’re busy before we take these from the safe, so she feels like she’s getting one over on you. And then we count everything that sparkles.” His eyes met hers. “Now you know how we make counting fun.” 

Her hand came up to cover his, holding it on her shoulder as her voice caught. “Thank you _. _ ” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time trying to write a scene that had the lesser families that I don't usually mention. I tried to capture a brief picture of their different characters in a line or two so it didn't detract too much from what Petyr was going through. So, any feedback you can give on the scene and the characterization would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!!!!


	17. More and Less Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a man in love could be so cruel.

“I think it’s today,” Elenei said. 

Sansa tore her eyes away from Petyr standing across the room holding Durran as they looked out the window at the birdfeeder together. “Have you checked your calendar?”

Elenei groaned. 

“Well, go check it,” Sansa insisted. It had been four days since they’d unleashed an unholy terror on the southwestern parts of the city, and things were in flux. A  _ girly day _ was the last thing on her mind, but it had been an incentive that her and Petyr had agreed upon. In truth, she wondered if Elenei was only interested because she thought she might see Auntie Cers, a guarantee that she’d be spoiled and pampered beyond belief. She may not have wanted to go if she knew it was just going to be the two of them. Elenei had always been the type of kid that preferred to go outside and play over getting stars painted on her nails. 

Whatever the reasoning, it was a treat to dangle above her head while she learned her days of the week as well as dates on a calendar. At four, she had her own concept of time and it didn’t always match the rest of the world around her. 

Elenei stomped off, sighing dramatically as she did. Sansa glanced quickly to Petyr to see if he noticed. The slight tug of one cheek told her that he very much did notice, even if he remained back-to. She snuggled into the throw pillow more, wishing he would turn around and notice her. They’d been reconciled for five days and while she didn’t expect it was enough time for them to have completely kissed and made up, she would have thought that it would warrant a hug or some other minor display of affection. 

She would wonder if he felt affection for her at all anymore, if it weren’t for his eyes. They were always so stormy when he looked at her, and he was particularly congenial when it it came to either business or their children. Anything in between seemed to fall through the crack that divided them still. She would reach out to him, promise she’d catch him if he jumped, praying he could take that leap. Each time he would stand in place, as if cemented there, his eyes filled with emotion that never crossed the threshold of his lips. 

Before she could dwell on it as she had been since the moment she slid the ring back on his finger, silently praying he meant it more than he said, her phone vibrated against the coffee table. Petyr’s head whipped around at the sound and he watched her reach for it.

He had been the one minutes away from  _ crab fishing in the dead sea _ with some strange whore before she stopped him-- _ not her _ , but one would think she were the adulterer with how intently he watched her. It was as if he thought she’d somehow betray him if he didn’t keep his eye on her. If she remembered things correctly, it was he that conspired with Bran, and also he that lied about it. Again,  _ not her. _ Though, she thought, perhaps for Petyr in particular, leaving his side at all was the betrayal he suffered. It didn’t matter for how long, only that he’d been rejected in the first place. She wanted to scoff at his pride, Littlefinger: too big of a man to ever be rejected, but couldn’t. The urge to draw him up in her arms was too great, and she hated that he wouldn’t allow such an embrace.

It was a picture of Cersei in a dress, burgundy with gold glitter accents around the bust and over one shoulder. She snapped the photo below her face, but Sansa recognized the figure and the sense of style too well to doubt. Without hesitating, Sansa typed back,  _ Is that Valentino? _

_ You know it is, _ was the automatic reply. It was quickly followed by, _ How does it look? _

Compliments were easily dismissed, and while criticism would be more accepted, it would also be dishonest and possibly lead her to skip the one meal per day she allowed herself. Sansa hastily typed back,  _ Bunches funny on the side. Stop buying outlet. It’s tacky and you’re better than that.  _

When no immediate response came, Sansa lifted her head to tell Petyr that it was Cersei when she saw him standing over her. “Muh-muh-muh,” Durran called down to her, drool dripping from his chin. 

Petyr passed him down to her and held his hand out for her phone. Her lips pursed in frustration. She had every intention of telling him that Cersei had just made contact, and the way he spied on her and insisted on reading the messages himself only served to piss her off. She smacked it into his hand and snuggled Durran close to her, trying to calm the urge to blow up at him. Her ire could have been due to the way he automatically assumed she was keeping things from him, or it could have simply been the building disappointment over the arm’s length he kept her at. Five long days and nights of standing within reach of the closeness they shared, condemned to feel only the space between them. 

“Why did you insult her? It’s unnecessary provocation, Sansa,” he chided her. 

“You don’t understand how we are,” she argued, mindful of the edge in her voice. 

Petyr opened his mouth to counter when her phone rung in his hand. He quickly held it up to show her Cersei’s icon. “I’m going to hit speaker.” 

“Don’t.” Sansa shook her head, moving Durran’s hand away from her mouth to be better heard. “She’ll know and clam up.” 

“ _ Fine _ ,” he growled and handed her the phone. “I’ll be in my study. Tell me what she says.”

Gritting her teeth, Sansa replied, “I planned to.” 

He was already gone and Sansa was certain she answered the phone on the last ring. She held it up to her ear wondering if Petyr was accessing her phone taps already or if he’d wait until he made it to his office. With the way he watched her, it was obvious he hadn’t had them disabled just yet. If he ever would. 

“I hate that we don’t talk anymore.” Cersei’s voice filled her ear. 

Sansa knew the feeling. “I--”

“But then again...” She cut her off. “I hate that you killed my children.”

“I didn’t do it, Cers.” 

As if she hadn’t heard her speak at all, Cersei continued, “Why did you have to? I mean, I know why, but  _ why _ ?”

Sansa found an angle and exploited it to the best of her ability. “Exactly. Why? We were peaceful. Dany’s lying to you.” 

Again, it was as if her side of the phone was muted, her response ignored as Cersei spoke. “I get Tommen. As innocent as he was, he was a weakness. You had an opportunity and you took it. And Joffrey, well you made no secret of your disdain for him.” 

Sansa looked at Durran’s baby face, so soft and chubby, filled with nothing but unconditional love and acceptance for her. His emerald green eyes sparkled back at her as he grinned gap-toothed, before affectionately bashing his face into her cheek. The idea that someone might some day murder him as Cersei’s boys had been, made her blood run cold.  _ “Cersei-- _ ”

“Shut your fucking face!” She screeched. There was a gut-wrenching wail, interrupted only by a gasp, “ _ My babies _ .”

Tears rolled down Sansa’s cheeks, each drop darkening the red of little Durran’s hair. She closed her eyes to her son’s innocence as she bit the inside of her cheek to control herself. “I promise you, I didn’t do it.” 

Cersei pulled herself together, coughing and sniffing back her emotions. “Have you decided yet when you’ll go for Myrcella?” Her voice grew harder, more distant. “I understand why you didn’t before--she’s too strong for you. Not so easily taken from me.”

“I don’t want to take her from you,” Sansa insisted. 

“Liar.” 

Sansa inhaled, searching for something to say that would make her believe her. Cersei was too quick. “I shouldn't expect anything less. Baelish is a liar too. You’re both made for each other.”

Pulled from the moment at mention of her husband, Sansa selfishly hoped he had heard that. Not necessarily the liar part, but definitely that even outsiders saw their compatibility. If only he would again. Cersei’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Say what you will about me and Jaime: jealous, crazy, and flashy--yes I hear the whispers. But at least we’re honest!” 

Brazen, more like. 

Petyr told her the only way things would work was if they were honest with each other, yet he’d scurried off to another room to hide and listen into her conversation like a young boy with a bag of spy gadgets. She was no better, pretending to be aloof to it. She exhaled, “I didn’t kill your boys.” Not giving Cersei a chance to argue, she pushed on. “I valued the peace we had. I valued our friendship.” 

_ “Friends? _ ” Cersei cackled.

Sansa felt the sting as real as a slap across her face. Instinctively, she snuggled Durran closer to her as she listened to Cersei sneer over the phone. “Grow up. We were something, but we definitely weren’t friends. People like us don’t have friends.” 

Thankful that she stopped there, Sansa took another deep breath and willed herself not to cry. She’d never felt so lonely. Her husband accepted her back in his home, in his bed, but not in his arms or his heart. Her best friend shunned her as the evil villian her new friend truly was. Cersei was no stranger to the game; how could she not see what Dany was doing? Was her grief that great? Sansa shouldn’t have said it, especially with Petyr listening, but the need to do so was too great. “Whatever we were, I miss it.” 

She could hear Cersei sniff and wondered if she might be crying again. The silent pause and then loud exhale and inhale told her she was probably snorting some coke instead. There was an audible lump in the woman’s throat as she answered, “Yeah me too. And I suspect I still will after I’ve buried you.” 

Sansa closed her eyes, grinding her frustration through clenched teeth. “Dany’s fucking with your head and you’re too coked-out to see it!” 

“Bye, Little Dove.” 

“No! Don’t you hang up on me.  _ Cersei! _ ” Sansa growled through the phone, leaning forward to stand. It was too late. The Lannister queen had already hung up, leaving Sansa with nothing but silence from her phone and an anxious cry from the baby in her arms.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, little man.” She bounced him and pressed kisses to his forehead as she texted Jon,  _ I need you in the living room.  _

He was there in an instant and gave her a curious look as he watched her snuggle Durran and rock from one foot to the other. When he calmed down to a low protest, Sansa spoke to Jon. “I need you to follow someone.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Long term. More than follow, watch. I need you to watch  _ over  _ someone for me,” Sansa explained. “Myrcella.” 

His hands raised to doubt her. 

“All of Cersei’s children are dead, but Myrcella. She’ll be next. Follow her, see who else might be watching her. If it comes to it, protect her.” Sansa knew they were at war, and didn’t care how she sounded. It was smart to catch someone in the act and it might change the course of things, bring back the peace. If the Baelishes managed to keep Myrcella safe, then perhaps Jaime and Cersei wouldn’t keep blaming them for the boys. 

Jon reminded her that covert ops wasn’t his specialty. Sansa glared at him, “Have you anything else better to do at the moment?” 

He looked away. 

“Keep Myrcella safe, so we can catch those fucking Mormonts in the act. They brought this war on. They turned the Lannisters against us.” 

She’d never seen such vengeance in Jon’s heart as when he lifted his hands to ask her why he should care if the young Lannister died like her brothers before her. The Lannisters were responsible for Ygritte’s death after all. Sansa didn’t have the patience to explain to him that truces were preferable and alliances the goal. It was one she shared with Petyr, despite the way they rallied the troops. The Lannisters declared war, and Petyr rose to the occasion. That didn’t mean he actually wanted to, only that it had been necessary, and he met whatever need there was to keep his family safe. 

“Myrcella is nothing like her parents, Jon.” Sansa kissed Durran’s forehead and appealed to him. “When Clegane’s men came to kill Mom and Dad, they tried to kill us too.” 

He stood silent. 

“And tell me, Jon. What were our crimes?” She cupped Durran’s cheek, wiping away the small amount of spittle that was dripping from him. “What evil had little Rickon committed then? Hmm?”

She glanced up to see him staring back at Durran. “Be a shadow if you want. In fact, that’s ideal. Watch over her. Step in and protect her only if you need to. Myrcella is not her mother.” 

His eyes plead with her and she turned away, reminding him of his role in her business. “That will be all. Report back anything worth knowing.”

When she turned back around, he was gone. Durran reached for his bouncy seat and Sansa hugged him closer. “Sorry, buddy. We gotta go find Daddy first.” 

“Mum!” Elenei crashed into her as she stepped out into the hall. 

Sansa attempted to stall her. “Not right now, sweetheart.” 

“It’s today!” Elenei squealed. 

“What’s today?” Petyr asked, leaving his study.

“Girls-only day!” 

“And what’s wrong with boys?” Petyr asked. 

Elenei’s excitement was fading as she started to seriously consider the question. Finally, she answered, “I don’t know, but Auntie Aerie says they have cooties and you say I can’t have boy-friends.” 

“You can’t date. That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to talk to boys,” Sansa corrected. 

“Date?” Elenei asked. 

Petyr raised both eyebrows at her, a small smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Sansa. Explain that one.” 

She sighed and turned to Elenei. “You can’t get married yet. So no playing with husbands, only friends. If your friend is a boy, that’s okay. But no husbands.” 

“No husbands. Got it,” she promised. “Now can we do girly day?” 

“Why don’t you play outside for a little bit?” Sansa asked. 

“No! Girly day. You promised.” Elenei crossed her arms over her chest in determination. 

Petyr gave her a warning look. “Listen to your mother.” 

Elenei groaned in exasperation and then stomped away. When Sansa looked back at Petyr, he was still watching their daughter announce her disappointment for the whole house to hear with each foot fall. “Cersei still thinks I’m responsible for Tommen and Joffrey.” 

“That’s to be expected,” Petyr replied, dragging his gaze back to her. “Did she say anything else?”

She knew that he knew every word, sigh, gasp, and breath that Cersei had taken. Asking her was such a farce, but she’d play along if it meant he didn’t find out that she knew about his ever-watchful-eyes. It was smart to tell him everything word for word, let him see how willing she was to share things with him. Something inside her, however, didn’t want to share her private moment with Cersei. It was too personal, just between one queen and another. As painful as it was, the conversation between them felt too like old times. “Not much. She was quite emotional. Set on villainizing us. No real coherent thought.” 

Sansa held back the part where she admitted to missing her, knowing he heard it, but lacking the humility to tell him anyway. She prayed he would take pity on her and let it go. He was human, he had to have heard the tone in her voice, the way she tried to appeal to Cersei. If he had a kind bone in his body he would look the other way. 

He eyed her and she held her breath, wondering how he would proceed. Unbeknownst to her, she’d started to lean forward. Was it a magnet that drew her towards him? Or was it simply pure unadulterated vulnerability that forced her towards a pillar of strength?

How quickly her mind switched from viewing him as petty and pompous, refusing to recover from rejection, to seeing him as the stable and secure force she needed. Perhaps that was the difference between marriage and friendship? One not so easily thrown away as the other. It was anyone’s guess which truly weighed more. 

The look he gave her made her wonder if he might welcome her intimacy this time and she closed her eyes to kiss him. Though he did not decline her as he had before, he barely returned the gesture. The step forward was short lived, when he placed a hand on her arm and gently pushed off of her, taking a step back. 

Petyr and Cersei were vastly individual in their personalities and character and both knew her so deeply in different ways. Yet they both managed to cast her off so similarly. It could have been the days of distance, such a repeated and prolonged rejection. Or, it may very well have been just the loss of relationships unlike any other: one so contingent while the other virtually unconditional. Sansa truly wasn’t sure if it was one or the other, or a mixture of both that caused a fury to heat her face. She hadn’t meant to be so crass, slapping him with it, but she did all the same. “Still not in the mood? Missing your foreign whore?” 

Petyr was very skilled at looking unaffected, but their time together taught her his tells. It didn’t escape her notice when his eyes widened a fraction, even if his voice was calm. “Jealous of a dead woman?” 

“Yes!” Sansa walked away, partially to avoid him, and partially to find a seat to put Durran in. She felt herself tensing, ready for a fight, and didn’t want to hold her youngest while she was. 

Petyr was fast on her heels. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Sansa tried to ignore him as she strode back into the living room, zeroing in on Durran’s playpen. She set him in it carefully as she listened to Petyr behind her. “You’ve made an art form out of worrying about people who don’t matter.” 

“She mattered enough to you when you were ready to drop your drawers and drain your balls,” Sansa hissed.

Petyr blinked at her, clearly surprised by the vivid imagery she was living with. She didn’t want to think it, wishing instead to believe that she’d caught him in enough time. Sansa would have much rather thought she’d made a fool of herself in the alley for the world to see, just before he whipped his dick out and let that bitch suck on it. 

But it wasn’t true, was it? She was too late. 

Why else would he keep her at such arms length? Why else would he be so hurt? She was home. They could have healed together if he’d only let them. There was no other reason she could fathom for why he would resist her so much, unless he’d already been inside another woman and suffered the guilt from it. Sansa fought back tears as she glared at him. She may have killed Missandei, but she clearly hadn’t stopped him from fucking her; she’d probably only prevented round two. 

Petyr loved her, whether he could admit it to himself or not. He loved Sansa, and she knew that. She hadn’t ever told him as much because the words never felt like enough and it wasn’t as if he’d ever spoken them to her either. She just assumed he was as uncomfortable with them as she was. Words were only words, actions were an entirely different breed of animal. There had been no doubt in her mind that he loved her. Only a man in love could be so cruel.

He had to be avoiding her because he betrayed her, sunk himself into that wretched Dany-worshipping cunt and turned his back on the love they shared. Petyr exclaimed, “She’s dead!” 

“Yes.” Sansa couldn’t force a smile--however empty, over the matter. 

Petyr caught her arm as she walked past him. “Then what has you so riled?” 

“ _ What has me riled? _ ” She barked, consumed by the image of him leaning back, loud music masking the sick slapping sounds of sex as he guided Missandei’s hips in his lap. It was masochistic to picture him with another woman the way he was with her in their first time together, the position exactly the same, club lights replacing the bright blue ones from the limousine bar.

He nodded slowly, and though it was in response to her rhetorical question, she couldn’t help but feel it was an agreement to the image she was plagued with. Hating that she had to say it out loud, as if he didn’t know, she replied, “You won’t touch me, because you’ve had her.” 

“Just what do you think I’ve had?” He asked, eyeing her carefully, as if worried direct eye contact would agitate her like it would a wild animal. 

Sansa rolled her eyes and looked away. “Please, Petyr. We said we’d be honest.” 

“I am.” He reached for her chin, gradually turning it towards him. “Ask me anything you want.”

Her body tensed at that, and she fought the urge to pull from his grasp. All she wanted was for him to touch her, though when he had, she just about jumped out of her own skin and bolted out of the room to avoid it. The question was too challenging, too tempting. Once she heard his honest answer, there would be no returning to the purgatory they co-existed in. The risk was too great and part of her wanted to back down, shake her head and feign some fabricated reason for why she wouldn’t ask what she felt she already knew. The thought of another sleepless night lying all the way on her side of the bed, wondering whether or not she would brave enough to press her palm to his back while he slept, spurred her on. Sansa took a deep breath before narrowing her eyes. “Just how many times did you fuck that slut?” 

“Just how many would be too many?” He replied solemnly. 

She gaped at him and it was clear he was stifling a small smirk before he took pity on her and answered, “ _ I didn’t. _ ” He let go of her chin and gave a soft chuckle. “You cock-blocked me.” 

“Fuck you, Petyr,” she growled. He thought this was funny? 

His grip on her arm tightened, reminding her that he’d never completely let her go. His tone was much harder as he walked her backwards. “I kissed her. Is that what you want to hear?”

Sansa gulped. No. It really wasn’t. 

She startled when she felt her back hit the wall behind her. His face hovered above hers, as he reached down and touched his hand to her thigh. She was lost in the mossy green pools that filled her field of view, barely aware of the way he dragged his palm up. “I teased and flirted--let my hand wander.” 

The tears were forming against her will and she cursed the pressure that built behind her eyes. Crying was the last thing she wanted to do, a weakness she wasn’t willing to show. His fingertips grazed past her core, and she cursed the shiver she couldn’t control. Sansa thought he would snicker, eager to gloat over how readily her body responded to his touch. 

She was wrong.

His nostrils flared at her reaction, eyes dark and glittering with interest. She wanted to say something witty to gain the higher ground, but felt his hand travel up and over her stomach. Knuckles brushed the underside of her breast, and she could barely stifle a moan. His voice was husky as he leaned into her neck, tickling it with the texture of such a whisper. “She was a mark, Sansa. Nothing more.” 

The room became exceedingly warm and no amount of swallowing remedied the dry mouth she suddenly suffered. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. To speak or steal a kiss, either would do. Before she had a chance to decide, he released her. Petyr looked away as he cleared his throat. “I only got her attention. You arrived before I could do any more to keep it.” 

Cold air replaced the the warmth of his body when it was inches from hers, and she found herself dazed by the contrast. “ _ Sorry? _ ” She asked, trying to gage how disappointed he may have been over it. 

He glanced up at her, confusion wrinkling his brow. Good. Confusion was good. At least they had something in common again. 

“ _ Mum! _ ” Elenei whined from the door.

Sansa closed her eyes, grateful for the reprieve. “Yes, sweetheart?” 

“It’s no fair.” She stuck her bottom lip out. “I looked at the days. I want girly day!” 

Petyr cleared his throat and turned to face Elenei. “Now is not the best time, princess.” 

On the contrary, it had come at the perfect time for Sansa. It was an excuse to escape, to take a moment to breathe without a camera or wiretap documenting her every move. Or the imposition to act normal. “It’s alright. We can go.” 

Petyr eyed her. “Sansa?” 

She knew with everything that was going on, he wouldn’t like the idea of anyone leaving the house. “I’ll stay to the north. Clear of the fighting.” 

All the news reports showed that the line between north and south was pushing further south. Their men were succeeding, making advances. The further north she went, the safer it would be. It was clear by the way he looked at her, he was weighing out the risk. He must have agreed with her because he didn’t argue, only said, “Take Jon.” 

“Jon’s on a job right now.” Before he could ask, she explained, “I had him follow Myrcella.”

Petyr clucked his teeth. “If we didn’t look guilty before, we definitely do now.” 

“No.” Sansa shook her head. “I want him to look out for her. Imagine how much the Lannisters will appreciate us, if we protect their only living child.”

He rubbed his goatee, considering her words. “It’s not a bad idea, if she’s attacked and Jon can be observed to save her. Otherwise, if the Lannisters catch him watching her, and there’s no attempt on her life, it will only validate their belief that we’re behind the other deaths.” 

Sansa hadn’t thought of that, too quick to prove her innocence to Cersei. “They won’t catch him.” 

“Last I knew, stake outs weren’t exactly Jon’s strong suit.” 

She pursed her lips, hating how right he was. They were not Jon’s specialty, but he was the only one she trusted to carry out the task and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have benefitted from the work. So cooped up in the pool house, it would do him good to get out for a bit. Rather than argue any further, Petyr bent down to give Elenei a hug. When he stood back up, he leaned forward and pecked her cheek. “Since Jon is indisposed at the moment, take Oswell with you.” 

Brune would have been preferable, but he wasn’t always on hand. Petyr allowed him to retain his position on the police force, finding the information he was able to obtain from it worth his part time status. Sansa didn’t bother to protest, simply nodding her agreement. 

Elenei ran full speed toward the garage, screaming, “ _ OSWELL! _ Daddy says you gotta come!”

Sansa followed closely behind, and hardly noticed the man fall in step beside her. He was not as silent as Brune, but he had his own rightful boast to stealth. Elenei stopped in the middle of the garage and looked back at Sansa. “Which car?” 

The options were more limited taking Elenei. They’d only installed car seats in the family vehicles, not the more sporty ones. “The cadillac.” 

Oswell got in the driver’s seat without asking, automatically assuming the role of chauffeur. Had it been Petyr, or Jon, or anyone one else that she might have enjoyed riding with, Sansa would have chosen to sit in the front with them. Since it was Oswell, a man with the personality of a paper bag, she wished she could hop in the backseat beside Elenei. Unfortunately, the cradle to Durran’s infant car seat was fastened in there, and the idea of wrestling it out simply so she could avoid awkward silence beside Oswell did not appeal. After she buckled Elenei into her seat, she got in. 

Though Elenei was only one very tiny person, she carried on enough conversation to substitute three of herself. Sansa glanced up in the rearview mirror from time to time and offered quick replies like, _ Really? Wow. No way. That’s great, sweetheart.  _ Somehow, she knew not to bother addressing Oswell, and instead focused all of her attention on Sansa. She asked if they were getting their nails done or haircuts or both. Cringing at the thought of returning home too quickly to another intense push and pull session with Petyr, Sansa smiled and promised her the full works. 

The music was turned up too loud for Sansa to hear the gunshots that fired behind them. It wasn’t until a bullet hit their taillight that she realized they were under attack. Oswell swerved to avoid another shot, and hollered for her to get down. What had once been Elenei’s happy karaoke song, was now an intrusive soundtrack to the terror they were experiencing, blaring through the speakers making it hard for Sansa to find her barings as she looked over her shoulder into the backseat. 

She could barely hear her daughter’s frightened scream over the sound of the radio, gunshots, tires screeching, and the rapid thumping of her own panicked pulse between her ears. Crocodile tears poured down the four year old’s cheeks, her arms outstretched as she cried open-mouthed, “ _ Mumma! _ ” 

Sansa undid her seatbelt and climbed over to the backseat, ignoring Oswell’s bitching for her to stay put as he bobbed and weaved to evade the shots, his eyes as much glued to his rearview mirrors as the road ahead. Elenei grabbed Sansa and clung to her, hindered by her five point harness. “I’m scared! I wanna go home!” 

“I know, sweetheart,” she cooed into the top of her head, intermittently pecking it with kisses. Her arms wrapped protectively around her, shielding her from the anarchy around them, and looked up through the windows. She counted three cars in total. Two were nondescript, but there was no mistaking the third. It was a gold camaro -  _ Jaime’s _ gold camaro - complete with a black Lannister lion painted across the hood. 

No. It couldn’t be. There was no way that was Jaime. They were up high in the north, too far from the fray for them to encounter a Lannister. Moreover, if a Lannister got past the frontlines, there would have been word. How in the hell did he manage this? 

There was a loud thunk against the window beside Elenei’s head. Petyr had parts of the car bulletproofed. At the time she thought it was excessive, but she was thankful now. Little spider vein cracks emanated from the original point of impact, and stopped halfway across the window, keeping it intact. 

Fearing what would happen if the bullets breached the glass, Sansa reached in the front seat for her purse and flew forward when Oswell jammed on the brakes and spun the car around. Oswell growled something about the ‘shitty cornering’ and rolled his window down. 

“What are you doing?” She screamed at him, knowing the glass was the only thing protecting them. 

He didn’t answer, only pulled the pistol from under his blazer and began firing back at the Lannister car as he drove. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

If she thought she was panicked before, it was nothing compared to when she saw him unroll his window. He was tasked with driving, keeping the safe family suv from flipping over and transforming into a six thousand pound deathtrap. All he had to do was keep them on the road, driving towards reinforcements. And he had just removed the only shield he had against a bullet to his brain.  

“Give me that!” Sansa ordered, holding her hand out for his gun. When he didn’t listen, too dead-set on his duty to guard their lives that he lost the common sense to keep himself breathing, she grabbed his collar and barked in his face. “Listen, you dumb fuck! Roll your goddamned BULLETPROOF WINDOW up,  _ now _ !” 

His eyes widened, darting between her and the road around them. He didn’t answer, but he set the gun on the console and had his finger on the button for his window when he grunted loudly and hot blood splattered against her cheek. Her stomach dropped when she saw red rivers running from his neck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Sansa yanked her sweater off over her head, too frantic to be thankful that she’d worn a camisole under it, and pressed it to his neck. “You’re not dead yet, do you hear me?” 

He blinked back at her, giving a slight shake of his head. Her phone started ringing as she leaned across him to press the button for his window. No sooner had it shut, than a loud thump sounded beside them and the same spider cracks from Elenei’s window grew on Oswell’s. Sansa tried to ignore the near miss and read her phone’s display screen,  _ unknown caller _ . She glanced back to Elenei sobbing in the backseat and then over her shoulder to the road ahead. “Good. That’s my baby back there, so don’t you dare stop. You hear me? You drive until you die. That’s an order!” Pressing the sweater harder into his neck, she added, “Is your phone in your pocket?” 

He gurgled something she took for a yes and dove in his pocket for it. “Unlock it.” She held it up for him to press one shaky thumb to it. Sansa dialed Petyr’s number and handed the phone back to Elenei. “Tell Daddy that we need help.” 

“ _ Daddy! _ ” Elenei cried and lunged forward against her restraints to accept the phone. 

Sansa heard a low murmur of sobbing in the backseat and knew Elenei was incoherent on the phone to Petyr. It would have been more efficient for her to call Petyr, but her phone was ringing and she was praying she could talk her way out of the peril they were in. She accepted the call and Jaime’s voice filled her ears, light and playful. “Was that Oswell I saw?” 

“It was.” She wondered if he knew Elenei was in the car too. Would that have stopped him? Sasna couldn’t be sure, so she said nothing about it. 

He chuckled. It was sick and too easily heard over the gunshots and revving engines. “He must still be alive, or I’m sure you’d be rolled over in a ditch already.” 

“Stop this, Jaime.” 

“Tell him that his sons are dead.” Sansa’s glanced over at Oswell, slowly bleeding out. There was no way in hell she was going to pass that message along. “I tied them up and drowned them all together at once, just like a litter of kittens.” 

Sansa had no attachment to either Oswell or his sons, but the sadistic way Jaime spoke made her shudder. The man was off the rails. He wasn’t supposed to lose his mind; he was the only one who stood a chance of managing Cersei. “Where’s Tyrion?” 

“Sulking.” 

She couldn’t care why at the moment, feeling herself get jerked around with each twist and turn of the vehicle. He wasn’t there to reign his brother in, and because of it, there was a high probability that they wouldn’t be making it out of this alive. She tried desperately to turn the tables on him. “You’re in the north. You can’t possibly expect to survive this.” 

Jaime chuckled. “Oh Sansa, you think I care anymore?” 

“You still have Myrcella and Cersei to think about,” she argued, wincing at the impact of being rammed. 

“My wife doesn’t smile anymore, Sansa.” There was a lump in his throat that his usual cockiness couldn’t hide. “I promised to always make her smile.” 

“ _ Jaime, no! _ ” She screamed into the phone as more shots cracked against the window like hailstones, denting and damaging the integrity of the barrier. 

He laughed. “You know that nothing is bullet-proof, right? Just resistant.” She heard another loud thwack against the glass and glanced over to Oswell. He was completely drained of color, using all the energy he had left to steer the vehicle. Her cream-colored sweater had turned a deep merlot, and blood squished out from the sponge as she pressed it harder against his wound. Oswell grunted in pain again, sweat pouring from his clammy face. “Tell me, Sansa.” Jaime’s voice taunted her. “What level of ballistic glass did Baelish do your grocery-getter in?”

She didn’t know. Shit. She really didn’t know. How many times had he shot each window? She glanced around her, trying to count each point of origin to determine.  

“I’m going to guess something like a level three or four. No real call to use rifles in the city.” Jaime inhaled deeply before purring over the phone. “Good thing I just switched to full metal copper jackets.” 

Four more shots were fired and she glanced around, looking for any breach. The car started to slow. Oswell had lost too much blood, his strength diminishing. His eyes rolled down to his foot. He gurgled, “I can..ttt…”

Sansa glanced down and put two and two together. The man was growing weak and useless in his state. Without a second thought, she straddled the console and jammed her foot down over his. “ _ Just steer! _ ” She shouted. 

“Problems?” Jaime teased over the phone. 

Elenei’s terror-filled screech seemed to precede the sound of glass shattering, though Sansa knew it had to have come after. Tiny glass shards flew past Elenei’s face, scratching it in various places as the window beside her blew out.

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

“ _ Get down! _ ” Sansa screamed at Elenei. 

_ “I can’t!” _ she screamed back, tears and blood washing her face. 

What? Why? Sansa’s brows furrowed in confusion. And then she noticed the bright red belt buckle Elenei wasn’t yet strong enough to undo. The phone dropped from her hand and she reached back to release the button, remembering to keep her foot jammed over Oswell’s on the gas.

Elenei jumped free from her seat and hugged Sansa over the console. Her tiny arms were a vice around her neck as Sansa covered her in kisses. “You have to get down, sweetheart.” 

“Mummy!” Elenei cried.  

Tears blurred Sansa’s vision. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” She stroked her hand over her hair as she kissed the side of her face. “Daddy’s coming, right?” 

Elenei nodded against her, wailing in fright. 

“Good,” Sansa soothed. “I’m going to let you go, and I need you to lay down on the floor. In a tight little ball, and don’t look up for anything, okay?” 

“No, Mummy!” She cried. 

Sansa nudged her down to the floor of the car. “Do as I say!”

Elenei held up her hand, stained red, and screeched in horror.

Sansa glanced over at Oswell, his eyes were vacant. The blood that wouldn’t mop up in her sweater, trickled down his back and to the floor of the car. Elenei was a vision of purity and innocence huddled in a pool of the thick red life-giving syrup that had drained from the bodyguard. Unfortunately, it was probably the safest place for her. “It’s okay. Just keep your head down.”

She grabbed Oswell’s gun off the console and fired back, furious at Jaime for putting her daughter in such danger. A loud honking sound stole her attention and Sansa searched for the source. A Dodge Viper sped up, the color of burnt orange spice. An olive skinned arm came out and fired at one of the Lannister vehicles. 

Oberyn? 

Yes. There was no mistaking him, when he poked his head out his window and fired two more shots. The car swayed back and forth, and Sansa glanced back to Oswell to find that his hands had dropped and the car was steering itself. He was nothing more than a corpse yet to chill, and very much in the way. 

Sansa grabbed the wheel, adrenaline coursing through her as she glanced to either side of her, trying to see all potential threats. She hooked her other leg around and spun herself into the big man’s lap, crushing her pelvis up against the steering wheel as she took control of the vehicle. She dropped her hand down to the lever on the seat and pressed it, wishing that it would move the seat back faster.

Just as she gained some semblance of control over the vehicle, there was a loud pop and the whole thing pulled hard to the right. It took all the strength she had to keep the vehicle on the road. Sparks flew up beside her window and she knew she was riding on the rim. A quiet wail sounded from the backseat and Sansa wanted to comfort her, but was more focused on keeping her alive at that moment, so she called back, “It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. Pretty soon this is all going to be just a bad dream. Something to forget.” 

She prayed she would one day forget. No parent wanted these memories for their children. Before she could think about it too much, there was another pop and the car pulled hard to the right again. She couldn’t maintain speed on two rims, and they knew that.

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

She would have to stop running and make a stand. There was no other choice, fight or die. Reaching back, she felt around Oswell’s pockets for extra clips. He had to have more. Had to. He’d wasted a few shots earlier, and every bullet counted. She could have cried when she found another magazine and wrestled it free from him. She stuffed it in her bra, to keep it close and readily accessible while she shouted back, “Hold on!” 

One good hard yank of the wheel sent her spinning in circles, taking out one of the cars while she did. The screeching sound of metal scraping and grinding against metal filled her ears and rumbled the car, scrambling her in her seat. She wrenched herself free, knowing she no longer needed to steer or accelerate, and climbed part of the way over the console to hold Elenei to the ground as much as possible. Her little screams muted by the crash, sent panic through Sansa. Was she hurt? Or just scared? 

The car stopped long before she felt it, her insides still tumbling around and around. She crawled over into the back seat fully and kept her hand on Elenei’s back. “Stay down.”

“ _ Mumma! _ ” She cried, and it was reminiscent of the cries she gave when she was younger and desperate to avoid nap time, thinking the whole world would disappear when she closed her eyes. 

More tires squealed to a stop, gunshots fired in the air and Sansa cocked Oswell’s gun. “Shh, shh, shh. Stay down, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay,” she promised. 

_ The world will still be here. We may not. But the world will be, _ she thought grimly to herself.  

Every window had taken a bullet or two. Elenei’s was completely gone, as was the back window. The windshield was covered in cracks and Sansa knew some of that was from the bullets, some from the collision. She didn’t dare peer outside of Elenei’s window, knowing she could get her head shot off that way. 

No. She would stay inside and pick them off one by one if she had to. More shots fired and she heard Oberyn laugh maniacally and holler, “ _ Today is not the day I die! _ ”

Oh, thank god. He was still alive. Still fighting, still protecting them. Tears of relief rolled down her cheeks. Petyr would be there any moment, she was sure of it. He must have sent Oberyn ahead because he was closer. It was smart and exactly something Petyr would have done. It would all be over soon. One way or another, it would end. 

Sansa held the gun raised, pointed out the open window, ready to blow the brains out of anyone that dared peek inside. Gently, she stroked Elenei’s wild mess of hair, tacky with Oswell’s blood. One blond-headed idiot appeared and she caught him in the throat, and then again in the nose when he didn’t drop immediately, staggering back a step as the blood sprayed in every direction. Another one jumped in front of the window and Sansa didn’t hesitate to shoot first.

Jaime’s voice was unmistakable as he shouted, “Come on boys! Fish in a barrel! Here, watch.”

A hand curled around the window and fired shots into the cab. Sansa ducked down over Elenei, listening to the bullets pierce the upholstery around her. Without looking, she lifted her gun above her head and shot off a couple of rounds, only stopping when she heard a scream next to the window and then a series of curses. She looked up and saw a gun in the seat that wasn’t there before. It was gold and most certainly Jaime’s. 

She snatched it up quickly and crawled over Elenei, trembling with the rush of adrenaline as she peered out the window. Jaime had staggered back, clutching his bloody hand. It looked like he’d caught the thing in a meat grinder, completely mangled. He looked up at her, incredulously and screamed, “You shot my fucking hand!”

Judging by that degree of damage, Oswell packed hollow points. She’d never been more grateful. Sansa raised the gun to do a lot more than that when Kevan pulled up beside Jaime and swung the door open. Not wanting to miss her chance, she emptied the clip and grabbed the spare from her bra, unloading it on him as he jumped in the car. Kevan’s borrowed vehicle lacked the protection that hers had and the glass of his window shattered on the first shot. Tires squealed loudly as they escaped in the smoke of their own burnt rubber. 

There were more shots to follow, and Sansa wished she hadn’t wasted so much ammunition in anger. Oberyn’s voice drew her attention. “I wouldn’t go near that window if I were you.”

Sansa felt her heart rate speed up, sensing the threat. She prayed whoever it was would listen to the warning. Wait, why was Oberyn warning him? He chuckled as he explained, “She shoots anyone that comes near. Feisty, your woman.” 

_ Your woman.  _

Petyr. 

Relief washed over her and her arms dropped, sore from all the tension and kickback. “Elenei,” she called down to the floor and pulled her up into her lap. She realized quickly that the poor girl must have been in shock, having no tears left to cry or screams left to scream. She sat silent and trembling against her. Sansa understood the feeling all too well and smoothed her hand over her head, a tremor in her voice as she told her, “Daddy’s here, sweetheart.” 

Just as she said it, Petyr was at the door, pulling it open. Fear filled his eyes as he stared back at them. He gasped, “ _ Is she? _ ”

Sansa looked back at him confused and then looked down at Elenei, immediately realizing what he was thinking. Elenei was covered in blood and her face was scratched from when the window shattered. “It’s not her blood.” 

Petyr’s eyes darted around in the car until he spotted Oswell in the driver’s seat, his body pasty white and slack with death. He reached for Elenei and scooped her up in his arms. Sansa slowly rose out of the car on shaky legs and surveyed the carnage around her. The car she’d crashed into had two dead bodies hanging out of it, she noticed with some small amount of satisfaction. The passenger flew through the windshield and the driver hung half out of door, gunshot wounds to his chest. 

“He was quick, but I was quicker.” Oberyn grinned proudly as he approached. 

Sansa looked at him, and the wreckage behind him. Jaime’s gaudy golden camaro had flat tires and smoke pouring out of the bullet holes in the hood. “Did you do that?” She asked, not knowing what else to do with herself, falling back down from the high she’d been on when she was fighting to survive. 

Oberyn glanced back and then shrugged. “We both did. When I realized you lost your driver I started shooting their tires. It was quite amusing when you shot the engine. You should have seen how upset you made Jaime when he had to abandon his pretty ride. I was too far behind, finishing off these four--” He pointed a little further down the road. “When he reached in your car. It is a good thing you are such a good shot.” 

Yes, it was. Especially since there was no skill involved, only luck. She wasn’t even looking, too worried she’d catch one between the eyes. If she wasn’t so rattled, or had a family to be with, she would have driven to the nearest casino and placed a rather large bet. 

“She’s always been a perfect shot.” She hadn’t noticed Varys until he spoke, beaming with pride. “This scene we came upon would have been a lot darker if she wasn’t.” 

He didn’t go to her; that wasn’t his way. The warmth in his eyes permeated into his tone and it felt as good as if he’d actually hugged her. She turned her attention to Petyr, his eyes closed, still clutching Elenei to him. Sansa wasn’t ashamed to say that she wished she was included, but understood a parent’s need to hold their child after such trauma. 

“Who got away?” Varys asked Oberyn. 

He looked around, making a dramatic display of silently counting on his fingers and then grinned. “Just Jaime and his cousin.”

“And his brother?” Varys raised an eyebrow. 

“Wasn’t here,” Oberyn replied. 

“Jaime said he was sulking.” Sansa knew any bit of information, however small, could be useful. 

Varys sighed. “Then he’s no doubt learned about the accounts.” 

“Accounts?”

Petyr whispered something quietly in Elenei’s ear and then kissed it before he handed her to Sansa. She wrapped her legs around her and burrowed her face into her neck as she had with Petyr. Sansa stared back into his eyes as she shifted to accommodate the heavy weight of the growing body that clung to her. They were eerily calm, no passionate sparkle or heated glint, only a dull green as grey as the death they promised to deliver. Varys answered for him, “We took over his accounts.” 

The frost in Petyr’s voice chilled her to the bone. “Come, Varys.”

“I’ll call Bronn.” He stepped quickly, pulling his phone out.

“Don’t bother.” 

She shook her head in confusion. “Where are you going?” Was he really just going to leave her like this?

Petyr kept walking. “Take them home,” he instructed Oberyn, not waiting to see him nod in agreement.

“Petyr!” She called out. Her jaw hung open, completely dumbfounded when he got in the car with Varys and didn’t give her a single look. 

He growled, “ _ Move _ ,” and both he and Varys sped off, leaving them with a half dozen cars filled with various enforcers from both northern and eastern families. She looked back at Oberyn, shocked on so many levels. In the past hour she’d not only been attacked and feared for both her daughter’s life and her own, praying for her husband to come in with the calvary, but she’d also apparently been rejected by him. Again. 

Did he blame her for this? Didn’t he agree to let her go? It was supposed to be safe that far north. She brought Oswell with her. Everyone knew where she was and who she was with. It wasn’t as if she was running off half-cocked all the way down to Casterly Cosmetics to pick up her favorite lipstick and then wondering what all the deadly commotion was about. 

So lost in thought was she, that she hadn’t noticed the time that passed or even her change in surroundings. One minute she’d been standing in the street, holding Elenei tightly, and the next she was on her front steps. Oberyn reached around her and opened the door for her. Olyvar and Ros both rushed forward and threw their arms around her and Elenei. She knew they were telling her how grateful they were that she was alive, but couldn’t make out the words, everything a blur of noise and movement. Ros moved to lift Elenei off of her and her grip tightened, unwilling to let go at first.

“The fight is over.” Oberyn’s voice filled her ears and his hand came up to rest reassuringly on her arm. “She is safe.” 

Ros eyed her tentatively and her words slowed, sounding clearer. “I can take her. If you like?” 

Sansa looked down at Elenei, now fast asleep, completely exhausted from the whole excursion. She nodded her head and said, “She’ll need a bath.” 

“I’ll draw her one,” Ros assured. 

“Careful of the cuts,” Olyvar pointed out. He turned to Sansa and rolled his eyes. “Baelish called Ros in too because we didn’t know how bad things would be and we wanted more hands on deck. She means well, but everyone knows I’m better with the kids.” 

Sansa blinked.

“I will leave you now,” Oberyn said, drawing her attention back to him. She turned her back on Olyvar, hoping he would get the hint to leave. His personality was too much at the moment. Oberyn lifted her hand and kissed it. “I am glad you live to see another day.” 

She gave him a polite smile and retrieved her hand. “I have you to thank.” 

“You did most of the rescuing yourself.” His eyes dilated as he scanned her up and down. “Baelish is a lucky man to have such a fierce she-wolf protecting his child.” 

_ If only Petyr saw it that way _ , she thought warily. The way he took off without a hug or a kiss, or even so much as a word to her, ensured that whatever sour feelings he’d been harboring only deepened. She would be angry if she wasn’t so emotionally exhausted herself. This wasn’t her fault. Either he realized that or he didn’t. If she kept thinking about it, worry would eat her up. 

“I appreciate the compliment, but you can stop flirting.” She held her hand up and shook her head. “We were merely playing each other before. There weren’t ever any real feelings there.” 

“Maybe not.” He smiled. “Though I can still recognize a woman as enticing as yourself.”

“You drugged me,” she reminded him, hopeful that would cool his heels. 

He gave an impish grin. “If I am remembering things correctly, you accepted the drug quite willingly at the time.” 

Funny, that’s what Petyr had said. She forced herself to stay polite. “Thank you again for coming to  _ Petyr’s and my _ assistance today. We will have to return the favor in kind should you ever need it.” 

“Oh no. The debt has already been paid.” He smiled at her with renewed vigor as he explained, “We have a common enemy. I may not be from the east or the north, but I will fight this war alongside you as if I am.” He leaned in and whispered, “I know now who is responsible for the death of my beautiful sister and her children.”

Sansa didn’t have the energy to react. She had known that Petyr was feeding him little tidbits of information, and whether the man had figured it out himself or Petyr pulled the trigger on it, didn’t matter. Both avenues lead to the same destination: Oberyn’s loyalty during the war.

“Send your girl, Ros, to me when you are finished with her.” He smoothed his hand over his chest and inhaled deeply. “Murder stirs my passion, and I sent word to Ellaria not to join me. I would not risk my paramour’s safety by having her journey here. I will return to her as soon as the waters have calmed.”

“Of course,” Sansa agreed and all but slammed the door in his face, before falling back against it. She had nothing left to give. Nothing insightful or witty, hard or vicious. She just needed to be alone. 

She passed by Olyvar in the hallway, holding Durran as he spoke into his phone. Thankfully, the baby was sleeping and hadn’t noticed her to reach for her. While she would have appreciated feeling him in her arms again, she needed sleep. She hopped in the shower and was quick about washing the blood and broken glass from her hair, knowing Elenei was in the bathtub in the other room. As soon as she could, Sansa went to her and waved Ros off, whispering for her to join Oberyn. 

Ros nodded and left, no questions asked, and Sansa couldn’t have been more thankful. Elenei sat mute and motionless in the center of the tub. In an unspoken agreement, the both of them worked silently. Elenei tilted her head back and allowed Sansa to pour warm cupfulls of water over her hair. It was very much unlike her usual fuss at bathtime, petrified of any potential for water to get in her eyes. 

Elenei was capable of drying off and getting dressed herself, but didn’t protest when Sansa did both for her. She also didn’t argue when Sansa tucked her into bed with her. Petyr wasn’t home and even if he was, she didn’t care. Only the feel of each rise and fall of breath drawn by her daughter could relax Sansa enough to finally close her eyes. 

It was dark when she opened them again, reaching for Elenei. She sat bolt upright when she realized she wasn’t there. 

“She’s in the kitchen. Olyvar’s cooked dinner if you’re hungry.” Petyr’s voice filled the room. There was shifting in the chair by the bed and she could hear the laces of his shoes slap against the leather as he undid them. 

If he was taking his shoes off, he was in for the night. “Are you coming to bed?” She asked aloud to keep all the other questions in her head. 

“Yes.” 

The blankets lifted and he climbed into his side. It was dark but she knew he was facing her and she took the opportunity to point out. “You’re talking to me.” 

“Yes.” 

She shouldn’t have been surprised that he stated the obvious, she just had. “You didn’t before...when you found me.” 

He was silent for a moment before he admitted, “I couldn’t at the time.” 

“Too mad,” she stated, rather than asked. 

“Yes.” 

More rested now, she had the energy to feel a spark of indignation light. “You blame me for this.” 

“What?” He asked and then she felt his hand reach for hers. “No. No one could have planned for this.”

“That’s right,” she said, still feeling righteous. 

He squeezed her hand as he explained, “I was angry that your safety had been compromised. I had to hold Elenei, had to feel she was alive and alright. I knew if I then held you, I would lose my resolve, and I wouldn’t leave.” 

Would staying really have been so bad? “Will you tell me where you went?” 

His head shifted against his pillow and she suddenly felt his fingers find her leg, drawing little circles on her knee. It was so faint, she almost questioned if she was imagining the intimate touch. “Tyrion.” 

“You went to Tyrion’s place?” Sansa peered at him in the darkness. Silence hung in the air for a couple of elongated minutes before she asked, “What happened?”

Petyr was home safe and in one piece, so she assumed whatever events took place, they were in their favor. His fingers stopped their shy dance and his palm came to rest on her leg. Her insides fluttered over the gesture. His voice was thick. “When we got there, he was sitting next to Shae’s dead body, sprawled out on the bed, head dangling over the side.” 

“Shae’s dead?” Sansa asked, surprised. Tyrion seemed to really care for the girl. Whether or not Shae returned the feelings to the full magnitude that he did, was up for debate, but she still looked relatively pleased in his company. 

Petyr’s hand slid up over her knee, and she felt her heart beat faster. “I paid her for access codes. She wanted the money more than she wanted marriage to him. I don’t know how he learned of her betrayal, but somehow he did, and he went out of his head. Strangled her in bed and in his grief was playing a game of russian roulette when we arrived.” 

Murder-suicide. It was poetic and fit Tyrion to a tee. Even though Tyrion had bloodied his fair share of blades, he was not a fighter like his brother or their cousin Kevan. He would pack his favorite pistols and run into battle with them if the situation called for it, though that wasn’t his style. Dying on his own terms next to his lover was. 

“Did he say anything?” She couldn’t help but ask, so wrapped up in the image of a heartbroken Tyrion strangling Shae. 

“He said he advised Jaime not to strike, but his brother wouldn’t listen. He said that Jaime had gone as mad as Cersei. All his words of wisdom fell on deaf ears, too focused on revenge to see reason.” Petyr spoke nonchalantly. “He said he thought it would be better if he died the same way Shae did, and was only resorting to the gun because he couldn’t strangle himself.” 

Sansa gasped into her pillow. “No. You didn’t?” 

“I didn’t.” 

She didn’t know why she felt some small relief in that. Assisted suicide wasn’t something she’d ever expected out of Petyr, but then again, the circumstance had never come up before. She was surprised when he whispered, “Varys did.” 

The minutes ticked by while she digested that. Petyr was particularly quiet and it made her consider his affection for Tyrion. She reached forward and traced her fingers over his cheek as she apologized, “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

“He wasn’t my friend,” Petyr corrected. “We don’t have friends. You know that.” 

There was no edge to his voice, only a dispassionate statement of fact. She didn’t know if he said it because he felt it or because he heard Cersei say it to her earlier. Was he trying to hurt her? He didn’t flinch away from her touch or turn his back on her. She had to believe it was the life they lead, not the scars they carried that made him say it. Sansa didn’t know what came over her, but she suddenly had to ask, “Aren’t we friends?” 

At least. She wanted to add,  _ at least _ , to the end of that question but felt as if she’d dared enough already by asking in the first place. His face scratched against his pillow and she barely heard him say, “ _ No _ .” 

No? 

That tiny one-syllable word felt like a javelin through her heart. He couldn’t even stand to have her friendship. Why did he stay, sleep beside her every night, and toss her the occasional small grain of hope if he wasn’t willing to consider her  _ at least _ as close as a friend? It wasn’t even as if she was bucking for some sort of best friend status, either. Though with everything they’d been through together, she felt she would have some rights to that claim also if she chose. 

“Then what are we?” She spat across the pillow. 

Glorified roommates? 

Domestic associates?

The goddamned couple everyone knows that  _ should have _ gotten a divorce, but didn’t and no one really knows why, not even them?

His hand travelled further up her thigh and even through her frustration and pain, she felt her breath catch, wondering how far he’d explore. She was disappointed when he stopped, letting his palm settle just under the hem of her shorts. That was until she realized it was the exact same place he used to hold her, before she left. Before everything went bad. 

It was a routine perfected over years shared together. Each night when they went to bed, they would strip down to nothing before climbing in bed. He would hold the inside of her thigh while she ran her fingers over his face and through his hair as they talked about their day. Sometimes it would lead to more physical displays of affection, and sometimes not. What remained consistent in either case, was not only the need to touch and hold onto one another, but to also be completely exposed and vulnerable to do so. 

A lump formed in her throat and her heart swelled when she heard him confess, “ _ More. _ ” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Ocularis for helping beta this chapter. I always welcome any help I can get with those evil commas and awkward turns of phrases. Grammar will never be my friend, LoL.


	18. Cinderella Slippers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s right, Petyr. You look at me when I’m talking to you. I’m your wife and you will give me your full attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ration Warning! -- Just letting everyone know that it is gonna be a couple of weeks before I can post the next chapter. I will be out of town for work and simply unable to write while I'm awkwardly sharing a room with coworker (if that mental image isn't Supernatural fanfic fodder, then I don't know what is, hehe). So, getting to the point: you may want to save this chapter, or consume it now. Entirely your choice, just giving you a heads up. Also, in addition to thanking my awesome betas, I'd like to extend a thank you to GreedIsGreen for helping me pair this down from 31 pages to 29. Axing things is very hard for me (I'm married to every word) and Greed made it a much more bearable process.

Sansa kept her eyes closed, determined to prolong the feel of Petyr’s arms around her. Since returning home, he’d kept his distance, taking only half steps forward. At first he avoided and outright declined her affection for him. Then he allowed it, but would not reciprocate. Whether it was because he was cautious or too slighted in the first place, she hadn’t been sure. Any advancement in their intimacy was made through her encouragement, and his tolerance.

Though, something had changed after that horrific day on the road with Jaime Lannister. Petyr took the first step, placing his hand on her thigh, welcoming the resurgence of a routine they’d developed together. It was modest and yet profoundly reassuring, and it gave license for other gestures of affection, however diffident.

With the current state of things, Petyr tread carefully, both in business and his marriage. Sansa knew that it was because he’d come so close to losing Elenei, that he would double down on the controls, place them all in lockdown for their own protection. A small part of her hoped it was also because he recognized how close he came to losing her, too. Did he see that? Or had he been so focused on Elenei that he hadn’t had the opportunity to consider her or the loss of her? She couldn’t blame him if that was the case, understanding how all-consuming concern for a child could be.

Though he wouldn’t allow anyone to leave their estate, a sudden rage flaring behind his eyes whenever the subject arose, he did occasionally soften from time to time. He had reached for her hand more and more, seeming to relax when he held it, giving it a quick peck whenever he had to let it go. It was so chaste and yet Sansa felt her breath catch and excitement tickle her belly every time he did. Every day Sansa would test the waters and reach for him, each time he would permit it for a short while and then he would gently tug free from her embrace, discomfort visible in his wrinkled brow. Twice he allowed her to kiss him after they’d had a drink or two, and each time, even in their compromised states, he ended it prematurely.

Sansa felt she would go mad with the back and forth, if it weren’t for the reprieve his touch brought each night. He reached for her thigh as he always had, and they would talk about neutral topics until one of them fell asleep. It was during the course of that slumber that Petyr’s mind freed his body to do as it wished. He would snatch her up and clutch her to him as he slept. Sansa had woken up in the night a few times to find herself little spoon to his big, and then forced herself to stay stationary, too afraid to wake him and feel the absence of his body pressed to hers. He usually woke before her and left their bed before she was ever supposed to discover his unconscious intimacy. She wondered if he knew she was aware at all.

This morning was different, however. Sansa was awake first, and she would soak up every moment of his love for her. That was until she felt something hard press against her backside and her eyes snapped open. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised; it was just morning wood. It didn’t mean anything, especially not that he was wanted her as she could only fantasize about.

Knowing that it was nothing didn’t stop her from wishing it was something. She closed her eyes again, feigning a restless sleep as she drove back into his bulge. A small sigh from behind her filled her ears and she froze. Had she woken him? Sansa braced herself for a very conscious Petyr to shove her away from him or exclaim a rude rejection. When neither happened, she started to consider the possibility that he was still asleep, and the desire to do it all over again grew. Sansa gripped her pillow and held her breath as she pushed back into him again, this time shifting a little as she did. More than a sigh, but not yet a moan, he mumbled pleasantly in her ear and she felt the arm he’d slung over her move.

She held her eyes shut tight, praying he didn’t wake up, not yet. It would have been prudent to stop wiggling her hips, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from squirming against the hard desire behind her. Petyr exhaled as he ground himself against her, his hand dragging over the mattress to find her belly. Sansa’s oversized t-shirt had rucked up, leaving her belly exposed for him to palm. His grasp on her as he nuzzled with each of the heads he thought with, was nothing short of possessive. Whether Petyr meant to or not, on both a conscious and a subconscious level, he declared her his wholly.

The revelation dimpled her cheeks and she turned her face into her pillow to silence herself when his hand traveled up to her breast, cupping it under the bunched up cotton. He had to be awake. Sansa stilled, waiting to see what he would do next. He squeezed her breast, rubbing his cock against her as he groaned his pleasure into the back of her head.

She stopped caring if he was awake or asleep, and wriggled into him some more, turning slightly to place her hand on his hip behind her and give him better access to her breast. They usually talked during sex, encouraging each other in various sexual acts, and it was hard to bite her tongue. She was just too worried that if the silence were broken, he’d come to his senses and deny her.

It wasn’t the intrusive sound of spoken words that pulled him from the sleepy trance he was in, but instead the alarm that buzzed on both of their phones at the exact same time. Someone was at the door.

Arya.

Goddamn it.

Sansa knew the moment he’d fully awakened because his entire body tensed. He slowly peeled his hand from her naked flesh and didn’t say any word as he started to retreat from her. Perhaps he was praying she’d been sleeping too, but she wouldn’t allow him that reprieve. Turning over, she reached for him, “Don’t go.”

“Someone’s here,” he replied, not looking at her as he pulled away.

Sansa wouldn’t take that for an answer. “I don’t care. Stay.”

He shook his head, not putting any words to the rejection.

“Why not?” She asked, and scooted closer to him.

“It’s rude.” Petyr slipped out from under the covers and stood up. “And I’m not in the mood.”

She glanced down at his erection. “You keep saying that, but I beg to differ.”

He didn’t have to follow her gaze to know his sweats were tented and he pursed his lips at her. “It’s physiology, Sansa! You rub a cock, and it’s going to get hard. That doesn’t mean I actually feel like fucking, or that I wanted you to rub it in the first place.”

She didn’t understand him. Sex was supposed to be simple. It had always been the easiest thing between them. “Why are you being like this?”

Petyr ignored her, grabbing a t-shirt and pulling it on before he strode towards the door. Sansa threw the covers back and rose from the bed. “Petyr?”

White-knuckling the knob, Petyr paused before he spoke into the door, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know what you want from me anymore.”

“ _You_ ,” she breathed after he’d slipped out the door. She wasn’t sure what he meant exactly. She thought she was quite clear when she encouraged the blood flow to his cock. Actions spoke louder than words, didn’t they? Sansa grabbed her robe and tied it around her waist in resignation. Why was this so hard?

He stayed, accepted her back, and that he meant to be her husband when he donned his ring again. His actions, on the other hand, screamed that he would not welcome any intimacy between them. That would simply not do. Sansa wanted it all, and to give him everything in return. Sex was important, and he knew that.

Was he purposefully withholding himself as some sick punishment? It was a cruelty he’d exhibit if pained enough. The tentative way he approached her by day, and held her close to him by night, told her whatever injury he sustained, it wasn’t deep enough to purposefully cause her harm. That didn’t mean he was open to healing with her, choosing instead to allow her warmth only when neither of them were conscious enough to catch it. Mending Petyr’s heart was shaping up to be a slow, grueling process.

To hell with this baby-stepping bullshit. He loves her and she loves him. Why wasn’t that enough? There was no title more final or committed than that of husband and wife--which they still very much were. That in itself, should have been an advantage against all these contentious emotions. Why couldn’t she initiate a simple hug without him easing out of it and edging away? Likewise, why couldn’t he finally take the leap and fuck her in the bed that they’d shared for seven years? It wasn’t as if he wasn’t aware of how willing she was to accept him.

The tension between them was palpable and enough to drive her to grit her teeth and break something beautiful, or silently cry in the shower for the hundredth time since fashion week. Not four days prior, she had almost died, and even after that he didn’t feel the urge to take her? If he didn’t after that, maybe he never would. Petyr’s heart was on lock down, where no one could use it against him, particularly not her. This was not square one, but instead well before.

Well, screw that and screw him. Sansa made a mistake, yes. But here she was, trying to make it right again. Was this really what she came back for? Sansa stormed out her bedroom door, hostile to the walls around her for simply being walls in her general vicinity.

Her feet thundered down the hall, but he was gone in a flash. It would have been so easy to write him off as too broken to bother with, but anything worth anything had always been worth fighting for. She couldn’t ignore the niggling feeling that gripped her stomach when he wouldn’t meet her eye. His confession lasted only seconds, but resonated, a small glimpse of the Petyr who used to share himself with her.

He must have meant it. Had to have.

“There you are!” Arya called out from between Bronn and Gendry. She’d brought her entire entourage. Considering the state of affairs in the city, it made sense that they would both insist on escorting her. It was rare that they were both in town at the same time. Arya claimed she preferred it that way, saying she loved them both but could only deal with one at a time. The baby was coming soon, however, and it was reasonable to expect that they would both want to lay low and stay close to home.

The haggard look on Arya’s face told Sansa that she was tired of more than just the baby’s constant company. Taking pity on her, she waved her away from Gendry and Bronn. “Well, come on then.”

Arya wasted no time waddling fast behind. She hissed down the hall, “Oh thank fuck! I can’t take another minute listening to the two of them yammering on and on about the baby and what it will mean for all of us.”

Sansa stifled a smirk. “Babies do change things.”

“Fuck that,” Arya scowled. “I can handle my own shit. No kid’s gonna change that.”

It was difficult not to argue, knowing first hand just how large of an impact children made. There was no teaching this, however; it was something she would have to learn in time. She cracked open the door to see a sleeping Durran, and placed her finger to her lips to quiet her sister.

Arya waved her off, showing she understood and then craned her neck to look in on the adorable infant sprawled out in his crib. She grinned down to him, reaching for the blanket to cover his exposed leg and Sansa hissed, “ _No!_ ”

“I was just trying to cover him up,” Arya explained.

Sansa shook her head and whispered back. “He wakes up at the slightest touch.”

“You know, it’s okay, Sansa.” Arya leaned forward to accept the huge bag of baby clothes and blankets that Sansa handed her from inside Durran’s closet. “We don’t really need this stuff. I appreciate the hand-me-downs, but--” She rubbed her hand over her belly and shrugged. “Between Gen and Bronn, it’s not like he’s going to go without if we don’t have them.”

Sansa grabbed another bag and scurried her out of the nursery. When they were in the hallway she took the other bag back from Arya so she wouldn’t be carrying it, and said, “It’s not about need. You’re having a boy and I want you to have my boy’s things. It’s a family thing.” Sansa felt a sudden pressure in her face and willed herself not to cry. She wasn’t sure if her emotional state was due to Petyr’s persistent rejection, or her baby sister’s determination to grow up. “It would just make me feel better if Durran’s things went to you rather than donated to a stranger. Besides,” she joked, “it’s not like you’d know what to buy anyway.”

Seeming to accept that explanation, Arya nodded her head, and chuckled. “You are right about that.” She glanced away and shrugged. “This child wasn’t exactly planned.”

Sansa smiled. “The best things in life aren’t usually. Besides, no going back now.”

Arya snorted. “There was no going back the second I saw that fucking blue stick.” Her hand came to rest on her belly. “He’s mine. There’s never been another choice for me. From the moment I knew he was there, I knew I couldn’t handle it if he wasn’t.”

“Is it because he’s not just a part of you, but also a part of…” Her question trailed off, hoping her sister would fill in the blank. The mystery of the baby’s paternity was an ongoing bet and the pool had grown substantially over the past few months.

“Nice try.” Arya stared back at her with a wry smile.

Sansa chuckled and turned to walk down the hall. “Come on.”   

“You don’t have to carry both bags. I am capable of lifting a finger.”

“Not made of glass?” Sansa teased, remembering that feeling all too well.

Arya groaned. “You know, there was a time I would have enjoyed them running around to please me. Now it’s just aggravating.”

“As the days go by, I suspect many things will irritate you.” Sansa smirked.

“Probably,” Arya agreed. “What about you?”

Sansa turned and asked, “What about me?”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

Arya gave her a sour look. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Sansa asked evasively.

“You and Petyr have been back together for over a week now and I haven’t seen him touch you once.” As Arya said it, her eyes were less than subtle as they searched her for a reaction.

Sansa scoffed, “Arya, you only just got here.”

“And you rushed me off to grab the stuff. There was no small talk, and no prying Petyr’s hands from your ass.” Her younger sister shook her head. “No. Things definitely aren’t alright.”

Feeling a bit defensive, Sansa grimaced. “Real life is not like the movies. You don’t just kiss and make up. These things take some time.”

That was an understatement. Each minute felt like an hour, each hour a day and each day seeming to extend well past the usual twenty-four hours. She was beginning to lose hope that things would ever be like how they used to be.

“What does therapist-guy say?”

Arya’s question startled her from her thoughts and she had to focus to figure out exactly what the question was. Davos. Arya was asking about Davos, the counselor Petyr dragged her to. She had talked to him on occasion over the phone whenever he called, wanting to schedule the next appointment. It was his job to poke around people’s minds, so a simple, “We won’t need an appointment this week,” wouldn’t suffice. He would inquire more and try to say something useful that may make her divulge something.

Sansa didn’t have anything to hide from Davos, but the mere fact that he was a head-shrinker put her on guard. Petyr must have kept talking to him because the man hinted at knowing some things that he couldn’t have possibly known about otherwise. He congratulated her on reconciling with Petyr, adding that he knew it was a work in progress and that patience was important.

Sansa wanted to lie and tell him that everything was coming back together seamlessly. She didn’t know why she didn’t. Who was Davos to her? When she opened her mouth to respond, however, she found herself saying that her marriage was worth the wait. He jumped on that while he slurped his tea over the phone, talking about trust. “It sounds as though you have a healthy respect for the amount of damage your leaving did to Petyr’s ability to trust.”

She remembered scoffing, “ _Damage?_ ”

“Of course. Petyr’s never trusted anyone else in his whole life. You know this. To have the only person on the planet that you can put your trust in, leave you twisting in the wind...well, it’s damaging to say the least.” Davos explained with a patience that was quickly leaving Sansa at the time.  

“Sansa?” Arya asked again.

Blinking away the memory, Sansa sighed. “He said I broke Petyr’s trust when I left.”

“Trust?”

“Yeah.”

Arya’s mouth hung open for a moment before she replied, “But you never would have left if he hadn’t-”

Sansa raised her hands to silence her. “It’s not about that.”

“Bullshit.” Sansa watched her younger sister puff up her chest in indignation. “You want to get back with him so some doctor tells you that you hurt him, and who cares that he hurt you too? Fuck that!”

“It does matter that he hurt me,” Sansa growled. “Davos was just explaining Petyr’s point of view in the matter. Whatever we did, right or wrong, I left him.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , it’s naturally made him a bit gun-shy taking me back.” Sansa could feel her cheeks heat and walked around Arya, hoping she’d get the hint to follow.

She could hear Arya laboring to keep up behind her. “Take you back? I’m confused. I thought you guys are back together. Happily ever after and all that.”

“More like just the ever after bit,” Sansa mumbled.

“What?” Arya caught her arm to stop her.

Sansa shook her head. “Look, it’s fine. We’re working on things. It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?” Arya eyed her. “Or do I have to kick his ass?”

Sansa blinked at her, trying not to focus on the large belly in her periphery. In her condition, she wasn’t about to fight anyone, and the very idea of it made Sansa cringe. What upset her more than her little sister’s physical limitations, was the easy way she offered to cause Petyr harm. “You hate him, don’t you?”

Arya let go of her arm and blew out a long breath. “No, Sansa. I don’t hate Petyr. I just love you more.”

Such devotion was overwhelming and Sansa had to swallow back a lump in her throat. “You really don’t hate him? Not even for Bran?” Jon and Rickon had forgiven Petyr for the accident, but Robb was quite clear about the fact that he didn’t. The subject hadn’t come up with Arya, and Sansa sincerely didn’t want to hear that she didn’t, so she avoided talking about it whenever possible.

“I love Bran. But he’s a fuck-up. I can’t blame Petyr for that. I don’t like that he gave him a job, knowing what a dumb shit he is, but I don’t _hate_ him for it.” Arya explained, solemnly.

Sansa nodded back at her and smiled in relief. The last thing she needed was for Arya to carry a grudge against Petyr just because she got a front row seat to see when they were both ugly to each other. Mending family ties was proving to be just as difficult and painful in some cases as tearing them apart had been. Arya was supportive of them being back together, if a little impatient for it even. It felt good to have something go right, to be easy for a change.

When they returned to the men, Elenei was there showing them her dancing moves. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been back to a dance class since the attack, and she was chomping at the bit to return. Petyr’s decree that no one leave the estate while the city was in such an upheaval had squashed any chance the poor girl had of doing so.

Both Gendry and Bronn clapped as Elenei took an unsteady bow. Petyr smiled proudly until he caught sight of Sansa. The storm clouds shifted behind his eyes and she knew whatever smile he gave was mere mask. He was too busy appraising her, for what she wasn’t sure.

“Auntie Aerie!” Elenei shouted and ran top speed for her.

Bronn was in front of Arya in an instant, catching up the little girl and spinning her around in a circle with him. He grinned and warned, “Watch out, little bird.”

“If you run into her belly, you could hurt the baby,” Gendry explained as he approached.

“I remember!” Elenei huffed as Bronn put her back down.

Arya showed an equal degree of disdain for their protectiveness. “And I’m not so damned delicate.” She shoved past them and crouched down to Elenei, wrapping her arms around her. “She had a very scary ride and this is the first I get to see her and know she’s alright.”

“I told you, Punky. It wasn’t safe before,” Bronn crossed his arms over his chest.

“Is it suddenly safe now?” She asked impatiently.

Gendry reached for the shopping bags that Sansa was carrying and gave Arya a pleading look. Bronn raised an eyebrow at her in some silent communication that Sansa wasn’t privy to, and didn’t want to be. It was Petyr who responded, “No. But it’s _safer_. And you have two very invested bodyguards.”

Arya glowered while both Bronn and Gendry gave a small grin. She then argued, “Actually, it’s probably the worst time to roam the city. Jaime must be on the mend by now.”

A few days prior, Jaime Lannister lost his hand, and had been locked away behind the high walls of the Lannister estate ever since. Whatever retaliation he had planned for it would have to wait until he was well enough to exact it. Each day that passed only got more dangerous.

“It’s safer because we have doubled our efforts to patrol our roads, ensuring that the Lannisters do not breach our territories again. We also have a man on the inside watching the Lannister family quite closely, so we know where they are at all times.” Sansa knew that Petyr only explained as a show of force. He was feeling Arya out, too. It didn’t escape Sansa’s notice that he hadn’t specified who that ‘man on the inside’ was. Truth be told, she didn’t want to listen to Arya have an opinion about it either.

“We gotta get going if we’re going to catch Dr. Luwin,” Gendry reminded Arya.

As quickly as she’d started the conversation, she disregarded it and groaned, “I don’t wanna go.”

“Come on, Muscles. You gotta,” he appealed.

“Maybe we’ll get to see Little Bit,” Bronn jumped in, attempting to help.

Arya groaned, “ _Fine._ ”

Without warning, she threw her arm around Sansa and squeezed her. Petyr chuckled, “You’re a hugger now?”

“At least until I shit this kid and stop being so fucking soft all the time,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Sansa returned the gesture and smiled when Arya whispered in her ear. “Take care of yourself, Sis.”

“Me too!” Elenei shouted from below, refusing to be left out of all the affection. Her little arms reached up and wrapped around Arya’s belly. “Bye baby!”

Arya chuckled and moved Elenei’s hand over a particularly exuberant lump. “Do you feel that?”

A warm grin dimpled her cheeks as she giggled and nodded her head. “Mmhmm.”

“He’s saying bye-bye to you, too.”

Pure elation spread across Elenei’s face and Sansa reached for her, knowing if she didn’t, she would try to communicate with Arya’s belly all day. It was quite amusing to watch her waddle to the door, her men around her, giving each other wary looks behind her back as she batted away their hands trying to help her down the couple of doorsteps.

Elenei interrupted her thoughts by declaring, “I want pancakes.”

And so started their day. With the floor of their once happy home yet littered with eggshells to carefully tiptoe around, it was miserable more than a few times a day. To keep her courage, she would cite the many minor gains they’d already made and showcase them as evidence in the courtroom of her mind. Even at their worst, when words were quips, pointed and fired like bullets and full conversations had become torture sessions, meant to wear down and bleed out the other, they loved each other. How could they not? They wouldn’t have fought each other tooth and nail, if they weren’t. Fuck, even small talk had turned down right explosive on more than one occasion, with how devoted they still were to one another. She would definitely manage through this. She just had to wait him out, have faith that things would turn around.

Durran gripped Sansa’s shirt, hungrily nursing at her breast while she rocked him, dwelling on her marriage. He grunted, drawing her attention back down to his adorably soft and chubby baby face, focusing intently on the pearlescent purple button. His fingers came up and pinched at it, no doubt feeling the texture change between the soft sweater and the smooth plastic. Sansa smiled proudly, seeing marked improvement in his fine motor skills. Durran grinned back at her and some milk dribbled down his chin.

He rubbed his mouth back and forth as he looked at her, searching for her nipple again. She bit the inside of her cheek when he latched, rather _chomped_ with his scattered teeth, so small and yet somehow so unforgivingly sharp. She would endure the pain, happy to see him feed for more than five minutes at a time before losing interest or growing irritable. One would think he was starving with how voraciously he sought sustenance, though thinking on it, he’d barely nursed earlier in the day, just after Arya left.

The idea that her son might actually be going hungry, hit her like a ton of bricks. Was he really weaning so early? Every time they gave him solids he gobbled them up easily and seemed to enjoy the freedom to roam around with a bottle when he was given one instead of her breast.

No. Just _no_.

Sansa was losing everyone. Cersei tried to murder her on no less than two occasions (that she knew about), Petyr’s attention was reluctant and forced, and now her son was depriving himself of nourishment just to avoid her. As if on cue, Durran broke the suction seal and started babbling. She tried to guide him back but he squirmed and squawked his protest, and did the same when she offered him the other breast, as if that would have made a difference. Sansa knew she was grasping at straws but would do anything to feed her boy, and avoid the rejection felt by his natural development.

It was with Durran on her hip, that Sansa made her way down the hall and through the kitchen, crouching in the pantry as she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She stood up and looked at Cersei’s icon. It was a call, not a text. They’d all been texts since she’d ruined Jaime’s hand. To say that they were antagonistic was an understatement, as they ranged from: _You’ll be strangled and raped in your sleep for this, you stupid ugly soulless ginger-whore!_ All the way to her more colorful moments: _I’ll gut you to match your husband, and while you still breathe, shivering from shock, I’ll pull your insides out and stomp on them until they’re nothing but gummy goo to scrape off my shoes. The sound of your spleen popping under my Manolo Blahniks will be music to my motherfucking ears!_ Occasionally they were shorter, simpler in nature, though the pain in them shone brighter: _My magnificent husband. How could you?_

Sansa had reluctantly shown them all to Petyr. It was the rare time that he would allow his hand to rest on her in comfort. It was pathetic, but entirely true that she almost wished her former friend would threaten her again so that she could feel the warmth of her husband’s palm and the intention to console behind it. He was usually so far lost in his own thoughts and pain to pay her much notice, and the small gesture felt like nothing short of bliss. It was entirely for her and wasn’t hindered by their own personal history. Honestly, it was the closest thing to moving on with him that she’d felt in a long time.

A phone call was different, however. There would be nothing to show him but the call times and whatever her end of the conversation was in his video-feedback. She’d have to be sure to tell him what room of the house she’d accepted the call. Maybe he’d come to her later if he decided the conversation sounded harsh enough. Sansa took a deep breath and swiped to answer, placing the phone against her ear.

Cersei’s voice was eerily calm as she announced, “I’ve had time to regain my composure.”

Doubtful. Sansa wasn’t sure what a reasonable amount of time would be for a person to accept the loss of an appendage, but she was certain that four days was not long enough. Especially after all those hateful messages. “Oh?”

“Yes. I heard through the grapevine that Elenei was in the car with you. So, while I loathe that one of Jaime’s perfect hands was destroyed, I can forgive you because it was to protect your child. What mother wouldn’t have done the same?” Cersei was making the most sense she’d made since before everything went to hell.

Speechless, Sansa listened. Cersei inhaled again and Sansa was certain a row of cocaine accompanied the air she breathed in. “But I just can’t forgive you for the dry-pounding my pussy had to take because of it.”

“What?” Sansa couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Cersei sneered. “You know better than anyone how hard it can be to love a powerful man. You can’t give them anything but a fight to win. They stubbornly refuse to accept anything handed to them.”

What in the hell was she talking about?

“Nothing is worth anything if they didn’t take it for themselves,” Cersei grumbled. Then her voice rose in accusation. “If you didn’t make him feel so insecure by ruining his hand, I wouldn’t have had to break a nail on his fucking back goading him.”

That sounded rough. “ _Jesus_ , Cers--”

“Shut up,” she barked and then suddenly laughed. “Funny, losing your kids really dries out the vadge. Who’d have thought? I didn't tell him that of course, didn't want it to stop him from taking his comfort in me. And Sansa, I know how to comfort my husband, so I guess it’s really no wonder that I can’t even fucking sit down right. He keeps bringing me a throw pillow to perch on and scolding me for not telling him.”

Sansa doubted it was that bad, and said as much. “You’d never allow yourself to be so abused.”

“It's not abuse to give your partner what no one else can, especially right when some redheaded bitch is taking everything away from them. He went after you for me, and I'm applying cool compresses to my kooch for him. That’s marriage, give and take--just don’t let them know who’s doing which. Men are so sensitive.”

A couple of seconds passed as Sansa considered just how familiar Cersei was acting with her, particularly for someone who claimed to be her enemy. All the messages only verified that boast. “Why are you calling me?”

“Forgiveness is important, Sansa,” she chided.

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Is this your way of asking for it?”

“Ha! For what, now? You’re the one who murders children and blows off people’s hands,” Cersei baited her.

She was already in so deep, there was no use trying to retreat, so she let her hair stand on end as she quickly shot back, “For throwing our friendship away on the word of some random platinum blonde cunt-rag.”

“Ooo, you’re pissed. Jealousy looks good on you.” Cersei laughed. “Though, I must say, Dany isn’t much in the grand scheme of things. This is between you and I, so let’s not pretend it’s about anyone else. She’s just a solid source of revenue and a good eye to spot your deception. Besides, I find it funny that you’re so angry when it’s _my children_ dead and _my husband_ maimed.”

It was hard not to taunt her, to ask her how Myrcella was doing just to make her uncomfortable. Sansa knew better, though. It would have compromised Jon, so she clenched her jaw as she growled, “For someone who supposedly hates me, you can’t seem to go long without hearing my voice.”

It was the wrong thing to say and she knew it. Any doubt she may have had about it, left her when she heard nothing but dead air from the other end. Sansa pulled the phone from her ear and looked to see that Cersei had in fact hung up. Why had she called?

Elenei’s tiny feet stomped into the kitchen and Sansa quickly turned off the pantry light to avoid being found. Despite their recent brush with death and the understandable shock that followed, Elenei seemed to have bounced back to her usual self, which was simply a level of energy and distraction that Sansa couldn’t take at the moment. She knew how silly she must look, hiding in a dark pantry, praying Durran didn’t stir too much in her arms, but she couldn’t help it. In addition to the usual queasiness she felt whenever she’d had to confront Cersei, something that she couldn’t put her finger on was nettling her. With the way it twisted her insides, it definitely promised to matter.

Sansa looked back on the various conversations she’d had throughout her day, and picked out the things that stuck out most to her. Arya had said, _You and Petyr have been back together for over a week now and I haven’t seen him touch you once._

It had definitely hurt to hear just how obvious it was that they were struggling. Davos’ words stood out in her head defensively. _To have the only person on the planet that you can put your trust in, leave you twisting in the wind...well, it’s damaging to say the least._

Sansa knew that about Petyr, knew that she mattered more to him than anyone other than their children. In some very rare instances, she even wondered if he might still prize her higher. That was how much he adored her. Trust didn’t feel like the right word and though she’d used it to explain it to Arya, she didn’t like it. No one trusted anyone. Not even them. Their marriage wasn’t based on trust. It was based on risk.

Every day they woke up, they risked losing everything, having their hearts broken, or their lives taken. That’s what it took to be on top--where Petyr and Sansa resided. Some risks were more calculated than others, but at the end of the day that’s really what it came down to. Trust was something nice people said to other nice people to keep them hanging around when nothing else would. Real love was risk. It was having everything to lose, and putting it all on red. It was staring down the barrel of a gun and wanting the person on the other end so much you were willing to push your forehead harder into it, hoping that they may not pull the trigger on you that time.

Cersei’s words rang in her head, _Nothing is worth anything if they didn’t take it for themselves._

And then it all suddenly clicked into place.

She knew exactly what she had to do to bring the intimacy back to her marriage. She was going to take a page out of Cersei’s book. The Lannisters had been married for over twenty years--something had to be working right. Sansa couldn’t get out of the pantry and into her bedroom quick enough, dropping Durran off in his playpen along the way, and skirting Elenei as she twirled around the living room in hasty lopsided pirouettes. Her thumb flew across the screen of her phone, dialing Varys while she tore through her closet, rooting around for the perfect dress.

Sansa had always kept her heels in the back, behind all the dresses hung, rather than off to the side in full view. It was her preference to see many sets of shoes in the background to more easily pair them with whatever outfit she’d slid to on the rack. There were the pumps that could be worn with everything, and ones that only looked their best with one dress in particular. Flats and any other shoe was carelessly kicked off in a pile on the floor in the corner of her closet, not warranting such attention. The mess of it drove Petyr crazy so she’d simply keep the closet door shut.

Flipping past dress after dress, Sansa came to a dead stop when she laid eyes on the D&G crystal PVC pumps Petyr bought her for their one year wedding anniversary, glittering in the background. They fell into the category of shoe that only had one dress to pair with it, and had never been worn before. Petyr said they were to replace the ones that she’d broken charging after the black town car that stole him from her. Her shoes had been white, but he insisted on these because they reminded him of Cinderella, who he’d playfully called her before two men claiming to be from the florist showed up and stained their wedding day in blood and gunpowder.

Sansa remembered opening the box and gaping at them, completely enchanted by their beauty. They looked like they were straight out of a fairytale, and she knew he’d paid at least two grand for them. It wasn’t about the money; he told her that nothing was too expensive or out of reach. It was about the way they made her feel, like she was truly worshipped. Petyr was thoughtful, remembering everything, and always providing. Those shoes were as much of a promise as the ring he proposed with. Sansa thought they were perfect then, and seeing the way the light caught them, she knew they were perfect now.

It was a couple of hours before everything was in place, and Sansa carefully clicked her priceless Cinderella slippers down the call to Petyr’s office. She didn’t bother knocking, refusing to give him the chance to turn her away. When she opened the door, he didn’t look up, not right away. His face, lit by the white glow of his laptop asked, “Yes?”

She stood nervously gripping the two gauzy scarves she held in her hand. It was one thing to dream it, even to arrange it. The impatience in his voice as he addressed her, proved positive why the execution was always the hardest part of a plan. Sansa took a deep breath and held her chin up, stepping forward. “I bought a new Escalade to replace the last one.”

“Any particular reason?” He asked, still staring at the screen in front of him.

Sansa took another step forward. “I’m planning to go for a drive.”

“ _A drive?_ ”

She could see the tension in his neck from where she stood, halfway to his desk. Felt it too. Her own legs were starting to stall, her muscles flexing and to keep her in place while sheer will alone forced them forward. She waited to answer, drawing strength from the uncomfortable silence until he finally locked eyes with her. Victory surged through her. _That’s right, Petyr. You look at me when I’m talking to you. I’m your wife and you will give me your full attention_ , she thought smugly to herself. “Uh-huh.”

Perhaps it was the playful note in her voice that made his eyes wander, drifting from her own. Each part of her signaled for him to take notice of another, until he’d drunk her in completely. The makeup around her eyes told him to look for the glossy red lipstick that promised a sexy pout before a particularly deep-throated kiss. Which only encouraged his eyes to travel the column of her throat to the plunge of her neckline to see the ample breasts that genetics and motherhood provided for him to play with, should he wish it. Right around there, he’d notice the stretchy material of her dress, the accent sparkles would help him see how it clung to the body she worked hard to keep, showcasing each bend and curve that he’d come to know as home.

It would startle him, naturally, when the flesh of her thighs came into view much sooner than was appropriate--skirts were always _too_ short on long legs like hers. He’d never made it a secret just how much he appreciated that particular trait of hers. Petyr was known to let his fingers linger the length of her legs more than a time or two, so she had faith his eyes would manage at least that. All the way down to her shoes. She knew instantly when he caught sight of the anniversary gift she’d only ever worn on the day they were given. A barrage of emotions flashed behind his eyes, too controlled to free the rest of his expression to them. His answer was sudden and sharp. “ _No._ ”

The one-word response may as well have been a slap across her face because it certainly felt like one. Instinct told her to reel back, to just accept his answer and consequently, his rejection--yet again. But she would not yield, having done that too many times already, and pulled upon every acting bone in her body to offer a seemingly easy chuckle. “Too bad I do what I want.”

Petyr blinked at her brazenness before narrowing his eyes. “It’s too dangerous. As you well know.”

She’d expected this. Sansa came around to his desk and leaned against it, a mere foot away from his knee. “It’s a good thing I called Stannis to check the surrounding roads, and then Jon to ensure that the Lannisters were safely in their own territory--which they are. I even called Varys to come and sit with the kids if you decided you wanted some fresh air too.”

“I don’t want to go for a drive.”

He looked so much more attractive and less intimidating up close. While he’d set his face hard, there was a worry in his eyes reserved just for her that she could happily frolic in. Petyr may have been keeping her at arms length, but he still definitely cared about her and her safety. It was enough to make her swoon. “Not yet,” she teased, crawling into his lap.

Petyr turned his head away from her. “I’m in no mood for games, Sansa.”

She thought back to the night she killed Missandei and the things she’d said the morning she woke up drugged. Petyr was operating under a misconception that she needed to fix immediately. “I don’t sit in your lap because I want to play games.” The many times that the games they’d played either started or ended with her in his lap, flashed before her eyes and she added, “Though, if you’re offering, I’m always interested.” Sansa slid her knee to either side of him, and nestled her core against his fly, pleased to feel life bloom beneath her.

“I sit in your lap because I like getting your attention.” She’d never made any attempt to hide that about herself, so why start now? “And I want to be perfectly clear here: I don’t need you to keep me safe.” A series of horrifically life-threatening moments came to mind. “I’m a survivor, Petyr. I always take care of myself.” Pride welled in her chest as she said it and she realized she was losing focus, so she leaned into his ear as she continued, “Don’t think for a minute that I’m with you for your protection, or that I touch you only to keep you interested.” She paused to graze her teeth over his earlobe. “I touch you because you’re mine and I want to.” She rocked her hips a little, grinding into the growth below. “I sit in your lap because it’s where I feel the most comfortable.”

He wasn’t saying anything, but the catch in his breath confirmed that her words affected him. After a second, his voice sounded deep with a restraint she couldn’t wait to shatter. “ _Sex doesn’t fix everything_.”

“I agree,” she tipped her head in acknowledgement. “It won’t make me forgive you for Bran or the Reeds, for disrespecting and dismissing me. Even if the sight of you with anyone other than me _literally_ drove me to murder.”

“Is that why you came back?” His eyes searched hers and he swallowed before he asked, “Was it just jealousy?”

It would have been a turn on for him, but it would have ended there if that were all it was. She knew because it was the same for her. Sansa hovered above his lips as she purred, “No. It was because I wanted you more than I wanted to be angry at you.”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she covered his mouth with hers, praying he’d part his lips and accept her. When he did, she slid her tongue forward, making it clear in no uncertain terms exactly where she meant their kiss to lead. It wasn’t until his hand ghosted over her thigh that she remembered what she’d come there to do and moaned into his mouth to distract him while she looped a scarf under one arm of the chair and guided his hand back to it.

He broke from her lips when he felt her knot the material over his wrist. Petyr frowned at the restraint and furrowed his brow. “Sansa--”

“Shh,” she cut him off, rocking her hips in his lap again. “I want you,” she reassured him, kissing him again. The awkward way his body stiffened as she tied his other wrist down, spoke to just how aware and uncomfortable he was with the turn of events. The only way she could think to console him was to keep talking. “So much that I want you to only want me. I wanna be everything to you again, to give you everything. But that won’t make you happy.”

He fumed. “Wouldn’t it?”

“No.” She shook her head and bit her lip, trailing her fingers down his chest as she pointed out, “You’d rather take it.”

“What are you saying?”

Her fingers splayed across his chest and traveled down to his stomach, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. “I’m telling you to take me. Teach me never to leave you again.”

One eyebrow cocked. “You want me to punish you?”

Her hands slid under the material, embracing the texture of his bare flesh, so warm and inviting. “No. Don’t punish me, Petyr.” In one powerful rock forward, she pressed herself against the hard shaft that threatened to tear through his zipper. “ _Own me_.”

He lunged forward, growling and fighting against his bounds to catch any part of her he could in his mouth. Sansa took pity on him, and ran her fingers through his hair as she let him kiss her breath away.

Blinking the lust from her eyes, she leaned back and stared down at his mouth, wet from their kiss. “I’m going to go now.”

“ _No!”_

“Yes. I want you, and I intend to have you. As soon as you’re ready.” She had to stick to the plan. Unsteady on her feet as she rose from his lap, Sansa leaned against his desk to take her shoes off. “You called me _Cinderella_ once.”  Sansa set one slipper gently down on his desk while she gripped the other close to her chest. “Find me, Prince Charming.”

His eyes darted towards the door, anticipating her next move. She reached for his chin rubbing it gently with her thumb. “Find me, stop me, don’t give me a choice. Make me stay. Is that understood?”

His nostrils flared, the muscles in his forearms straining against the flimsy scarves that pinned him down. The silence almost stopped her heart. Why wasn’t he answering?

The word he uttered was barely above a whisper, but she heard it regardless. “ _Pomegranate_?”

Relief washed over her as she chuckled. It was their mutually agreed upon safeword, reserved for occasions meant to be particularly rough and messy. “Yes, pomegranate. But I won’t need it.”

 _“We’ll see_ ,” he snarled.

Sansa kissed the tip of his nose, ignoring his idle threat and turned to run, stopping in the doorway only to grin quickly before leaving. She broke into a sprint down the hall, exhilaration of the chase coursing through her. Barely registering the colorful blurs in the rooms she passed as Varys and Olyvar, she booked it for the garage.

Stannis had been paid handsomely to insure that the roads were clear, giving Sansa the freedom to joyride while she waited for Petyr to catch her. She’d had the seats taken out, leaving the back empty and spacious for them if he decided to have her there. Perhaps he’d make her wait until they drove home, but she doubted that. Tying him down would have frustrated him enough to strike a primal chord within.

Sansa glanced up in the rearview window, looking for any sign of him behind her. Disappointment sat heavy in the pit of her stomach when she saw no headlights. Had he followed? She was so sure he would. He loved her, didn’t he? This was what he needed, wasn’t it? He needed to _take her_ back, to _make her_ stay, to once again win the prize that beat so violently in her chest.

Unless…

Unless, he didn’t want to win her over again.

A loud pop jarred her from her insecurities as she flew forward in her seat. Sansa caught herself on the dash and fought to keep the steering wheel straight. A second later she heard the same loud pop, but this time she was braced from the last. Her eyes darted all around her as she searched for the cause. There was no one on the road but her, no way her tires were shot, and yet she could feel the them losing air, hearing the steady fwap fwap of the rubber going slack.

Memory of the horror she’d experienced a few days prior made her skin crawl. She knew Elenei was safe at home in her bed, but Sansa couldn’t ignore the overwhelming need to hold her breath and glance over her shoulder, checking the floor of the backseat to make sure. Air filled her lungs when she saw nothing but the clean coffee-colored carpet sans a terrified child covered in blood. She took another couple of deep breaths, willing herself to relax. Petyr was right to want to keep her home safe. She hadn’t been in a vehicle since it had happened and it was naive of her to think she could so easily ride in another so soon after.

Blue lights flashed ahead and she let the SUV come to a stop in the center of the road. Stannis approached her window, his hands raised to show her that he meant no harm. It was an overly cautious gesture, especially since he was in their employ, but suffering the heavy dose of post-traumatic panic as she was, Sansa appreciated the extra precaution on his part. The window lowered and she eyed him curiously, her voice deepening as she instructed, “Explain.”

“Spikestrip. Baelish’s instructions.” Stannis cleared his throat before he added, “I am sorry, Sansa.” His hand came to rest gently on the doorframe, giving her a pitying look before he spoke down to the ground. “Some men aren’t meant to be left.”

“ _What?_ ” She glared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

He sighed. “It would be easier on you and the kids if you stopped trying to take off.” He eyed her expensive dress, gulping at it’s low cut and then quickly looked away. “It can’t be that bad, can it? He’ll probably buy you a necklace or something. Won’t that be nice?”

What a dumb fuck.

Boy, didn’t he have it all wrong. Sansa’s eye twitched as she pressed the button for her window to close and educated him. “No one keeps me if I don’t want to be kept.” She wished the window motor had been faster to catch his fingers, but he retracted his hand in enough time. His eyes bulged in surprise when she motioned for him to scurry along.

Sansa sat watching him try to keep a casual pace when all he wanted to do was run back to the safety of his police cruiser. She took another deep breath and felt her face flush with excitement.

Petyr was coming for her.

Yes.

It had only been about three weeks since she’d spread herself open to him on his desk and received an angry fucking, but it felt like an eternity. Goosebumps spread over her as she realized she was minutes from feeling him against and inside her again. The circumstances would be different, though she was certain the emotions involved would be just as powerful, and this time much more welcomed.

Sansa rose from her seat and moved to the back, suddenly unsure of how to sit. Should she put the shoe back on? Would he bring the one she left behind, or forget it in his mad dash to get to her? Sansa left the shoe on the floor and sprawled out in the open space, trying to decide which position would be the most alluring. It was silly, but she was growing more nervous by the second.

Giving up on various poses, she sat up and fidgeted with the sparkles that lined the hem of her skirt. The click of the door opening and a cold gust of wind, made her lift her head to see Petyr standing before her, silhouetted by the streetlight. He stood motionless and she wondered what he would do. Would he climb in or think better of it and leave? The longer he stood, the more anxious she grew. He had been hiding something behind his back and she hadn’t noticed at first, not until he revealed it to be the shoe she left on his desk.

Sansa gasped in relief, her vision blurring with joyous tears she refused to let loose. “You loaded the deck,” she chuckled.

Petyr dropped the shoe to the ground and climbed in, closing the door behind him. His voice was horse as he said, “I’d do anything to keep what’s mine.”

He reached for her, cupping her cheek as he leaned in, letting her see him in the obscure lighting. His pupils had blown wide open, two glittering black holes threatening to devour her. When he whispered against her lips, she thought they actually might. “Get on your knees.”

Sansa swallowed back the excess saliva and shock, searching him to see if she’d heard him right. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, his fingers tightening as he commanded, “ _Now_.”

As soon as he’d released her, she pressed her palms flat on the carpet, lifting herself up on her knees. Petyr had taken charge before, many times upon request. That didn’t detract from the fear and excitement she felt now, allowing herself to be used entirely at his discretion, after so much had passed between them. His voice rumbled above her. “You play games with me to get my attention, as if you don’t already have it.”

Sansa stared down at the vehicle’s upholstery beneath her, unsure whether or not she was supposed to agree or disagree. Was she meant to stay silent, or make a sound? Deciding on the safest course of action, she simply nodded her head, trying not to flinch when he surprised her by resting his hand gently in the space between her shoulder blades. “Oh, my sweet wife,” he purred down to her.

He crouched beside her, his other hand brushing up her arm, to extend over her shoulder and chest until it found her throat. Petyr applied no pressure, only using his new hold to turn her head to face him as stroked her back. “My sweet, silly wife.”

Was it that absurd to want his attention? The cameras that surrounded her day after day, proved he was as interested in her as any man ever would be, and yet she always wanted more. Sansa swallowed again, her throat moving against his hand, knowing she was just as obsessed as he. They were the perfect pair.

Sansa closed her eyes as she felt his palm inch down her back and over the curve of her ass. Her chest swelled in pride when she heard the subtle sounds of appreciation he emitted, dragging his hand down to the top of her thigh and then back again. Her dress picked up with the motion to allow him the feel of naked flesh beneath. His voice sounded from high above, disconnected from the hands that touched her, as he explained, “I have only loved one woman.”

Her dress bunched up to her waist, completely exposing her backside to the open air and the orange light of street lamps shining through tinted windows. Petyr’s hold on her throat was so gentle that she wondered if she could simply lift her head out of it, but didn’t dare test it. The index finger of his other hand traced the waistband of her underwear, hooking around to the dip of the thong that her ass concealed. “Only one,” he assured her. Sansa’s breath caught as his finger burrowed deeper, determined to follow the fabric trail all the way to where she’d feel it the most. “My entire life,” he added.

It was amazing the effect a single digit had on her, when pressed in just the right place. Sansa clenched at nothing but his words and the pressure of his fingertip. His voice was thick velvet pouring over her as he revealed, _“You._ ”

Her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, only to snap open at the loud crack that sounded before she ever felt the sting of his open hand clap hard against her ass. Petyr’s fingers dug into her jaw when she instinctively squirmed, maintaining his hold as he slapped her other cheek a hair harder than the one before it. She suspected that was because he knew she was expecting it now. Petyr was already spanking the first again when the sharp sting finally registered.

He was silent as his palm heated her backside. She wished he would say something--anything, as she imagined the various shades of red it was turning under each hard and unforgiving assault. The darkness hid his face from her, but she knew his expression would be tight, heavily guarded. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek wincing through the burn so hot that it melted her insides until she had soaked through the scrap of fabric that concealed her.

Just when she didn’t think she could sustain another injury, pomegranates still so far from her mind, his hand moved from her throat to her shoulder. The motion was not followed by the smack she’d grown accustomed to. It was suddenly so calm and quiet, save for the sound of heavy breathing. So lost in the heat that ran across her both the area that had been violated and the area that had yet to, she wasn’t sure if it was her own breathing she heard or his. Even in the darkness of the car, she could see the profound bulge in his pants that paddling her ass had provoked.

Sansa closed her eyes, bracing herself for a surprise attack, thinking he couldn’t possibly be through with her--not with an erection like that. To her surprise, he didn’t spank her again, but instead shifted himself behind her. It was then that he finally spoke. “You’re mine, Sansa. And I am yours.” He squeezed her shoulders, massaging them as he worked his way down her back. He was at her hips when his grip got tighter and his words thicker. “And you tried to throw that-- _me_ away.”

Hanging her head down, Sansa breathed through the pain of his rough massage, his hands grabbing and rubbing into the sore globes of her ass. “How dare you?” He asked. Sansa stared at the carpet beneath her, trying to focus on the fibers to stop herself from either crying out or answering his rhetorical question with something witty and entirely inappropriate for the situation.

It was the strangest sensation; the harder he grabbed her, causing the tender flesh to throb, the rest of her started to throb too. It shouldn’t have felt good, but it was beginning to feel excruciatingly so. Petyr’s thumbs dipped playfully over the crack of her ass, running over her thong as his voice deepened. “I think you know it was wrong to leave me. To hurt me.”

Sansa bit her lip, the anticipation of his next move killing her. Each time he ran his thumb down, he would let it slide a little further towards the growing damp. “I think you feel guilty for abandoning me.”

Abandoning?

She hadn’t thought of it like that. Sansa had been justified in wanting to leave, and it had nothing to do with hurting or abandoning him, and everything to do with self-preservation. He was right that she felt guilty, but that had been for the ugly way in which she tried to detach from him, the lows she’d stooped to. Leaving anyone else would just be ending a relationship, but leaving Petyr was _abandoning_ him. Sansa suddenly wanted to turn around and comfort him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected sensation of his nose pressing against her sensitive opening, as he shoved his face into her, inhaling deeply. “My favorite smell in the world.”

His words against her core, vibrated and encouraged the urge to rock back and drive herself further on his face. He chuckled into her, and it tickled until she leaned forward, escaping it. Petyr gave her a gentle spank. “That was naughty, Sansa.”

It hurt more than it should have, but she supposed that was because the area had grown so sensitive, having already been thoroughly reddened. “Would you like to know what else was naughty of you?” He teased, sitting back again.

She could think of a thousand things, and decided it best not to volunteer anything. There wasn’t much Petyr didn’t know about, but she’d hate for him to find out anything new while they occupied this position. His fingers dug for the material of her thong, sliding under it as he spoke. “You killed Missandei.”

“And I’d do it again,” she growled automatically, forgetting her decision to stay quiet for the time being.

There was a smile in his voice that made her, in turn, smile as well. He pulled the material back, far away from her, and Sansa prayed it was to slip his finger inside and massage her with as much pressure and focus as he had her back. “She was our only in and you took her off the table.” Sansa yelped when the material snapped back hard against her tender flesh, puckering her ass and stinging her clit.

Sansa sucked air in and out through her teeth, feeling her pulse beat between her legs in protest. She could hear the jangle of his belt buckle behind her, his words pouring down to her. “All because you were jealous. It was simultaneously the most frustrating and exciting thing in the world.” The sound of his zipper popping sent frissons of excitement rippling through her. She was so close to feeling him, giving and taking him. “It was quite a setback for us against the Mormonts, Sansa.” She listened to the rustle of his pants dropping to his knees before he turned to kick them off completely. “And yet, I felt the closest I’ve ever felt to you in that moment. You truly understood me, why I need to kill boys and men alike for just looking at you.”

The goosebumps that had gone away, returned as she let his words swirl around her head. He gripped the waist of her panties and pulled them down her thighs to come to rest at her knees. Sansa squeezed her legs excitedly as she realized that he was right. She was only left untouched in the open air for seconds before she felt the velvety soft head of his cock tease her opening, sliding up and down over the slick trail of her parted flesh. Sansa groaned in frustration each time he passed by without pressing into her. “You ended her in a split second. No drawn out torture or lesson to teach, just an automatic response to seeing another woman on my arm.”

Sansa took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter in her heart each time he pressed against the rim of her sodden core, so close. Her eyes widened when she felt him line up perfectly against her, and then stop there. His hands moved to her hips as he gave her permission. “If you want my dick so much, take it.”

It was instinct to want to swiftly impale herself on him, but she knew such an unguided motion would only lead to injury, so she made herself go slow as she slid back on him. Her muscles involuntarily flexed, both trying to hold him close and fight of the foreign body. He rubbed her hips, moaning at the feel of sinking into her. Sansa grinned proudly, as she commisserated silently to herself. She took her time gliding down to his base, the feel of his cool thighs a strong contrast to warm burning of her battered cheeks.

She’d barely taken all of him before she was reflexively rocking forward and then throwing herself back again. His hips met her motion and where his hands had once been simply resting on her, they were now yanking her back hard against him. They worked in time to a rough rhythm, her ass smashing hard against him, his dick digging deeper and deeper into her. Petyr growled his pleasure behind her and she smiled as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. If they kept going like that, she was sure to get off.

“ _Slow down_ ,” he grunted and she didn’t think she heard him right. Sansa kept a rapid pace, rocking back and forth on her hands and knees.There was a yank on her hair that she tried to overlook, so singularly focused on the sensation building inside of her.

It was growing increasingly difficult to ignore, the pull more and more persistent. She froze when a pain shot from the sensitive flesh that surrounded her opening. He’d pinched where she held him, seeming not to care about the discomfort and disruption it caused. “I told you to slow down,” he chided.

Sansa hissed in pain as she discovered that he’d wrapped her hair around his fist. He used his hold on her, to pull her head back until her hands lifted, picking her up off the floor. Petyr moved back to sit on his heels and guided her to sit in his lap. He didn’t stop the steady pull on her hair when they’d changed position, but instead, continued to hold her head back to rest on his shoulder. It was uncomfortable to say the least, and she was completely at his mercy, staring up through the car’s sunroof as he kissed her temple. His words were teasing. “I’ve been so lonely without my pussy to fuck. I’m in no rush to finish with it so soon.”

“Petyr, please,” she whimpered desperately, wriggling to give herself more pleasure. They had been close to orgasm before Petyr brought them to such a halt.

His other hand held her arm as he thrust up into her a couple of times. He pecked more kisses against her ear before he stopped, whispering, “Don’t move. You like sitting in my lap, remember?” The hand that held her arm, slid up to her shoulder, gripping it gently as he continued to whisper. “Just hold me inside you, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll give you a little--” Petyr grunted for emphasis as he ground into her. “ _Friction_.”

Sansa gasped, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Petyr had always been a good size, but he felt so much larger when she held him static inside her. He was solid and hard, filling her so completely that she melted around him, and dripped to the floor below. The pleasure was too great, and it set her to trembling in his lap. An arbitrary amount of time that felt like forever to her and just long enough to him, had passed and he smiled into her ear. “Mm, I knew you could behave.”

Before she could say anything in return, Petyr pulled back a little, only to rock his hips back towards her. Sansa squirmed, trying to get him to move some more when he chuckled into her neck. “So greedy for me?”

She squeezed herself around him as hard as she could, feeling the all-too familiar stir in the bottom of her belly at the lewdity of his words. She wouldn’t have been so greedy if he didn’t create such a need. “Yes.”

Petyr let go of her arm, but wouldn’t relinquish his hold of her hair, keeping her head anchored back against his shoulder. He set a ridiculously slow pace, grinding into her in praise. “Good. Then you’ll never leave me again.”

It wasn’t a threat or a demand, but a simple statement of fact recognized. Not for the first time, his words and the steady rhythm with which he took her, Sansa felt herself teeter frustratingly close to the edge. When she still hadn’t come, her voice grew small and she asked, “Can I make a request?”

His hand slid to her belly, letting his pinky and ring finger trace over the healed over incision mark from Durran. Petyr kissed into her neck and hummed, “What do you need from me. Name it.”

“Take your shirt off. I want to feel your bare chest against my back.” Sansa braced herself against his thighs and rolled her hips back against him, sweat pouring from her brow as she insisted. “I want to feel the scar you wear for me.”

Petyr moaned at her words and bit hard into her neck. Sansa gasped at the confused feeling of pleasure and pain, finding her head free to lift off of his shoulder all of a sudden. He’d let her go just long enough to take his shirt off. As soon as she’d realized it, the hair of his chest mashed into her back and his arms wrapped around her again. “Better?” He asked.

She rocked back into him, nodding eagerly. “Much.”

His goatee tickled her shoulder as he smiled into her, loudly inhaling the scent of her. He trailed kisses over her shoulder before he whispered, “Give me your hand.”

Without hesitation, Sansa lifted one hand from his thigh and held it up for him to take. Petyr caught it and pressed a kiss to the back of it before he lowered it down to touch where they came together. His fingertips guided hers to dance over the ridges and grooves they shared, the contrast of his rock-hard shaft and her soft wet cunt, pliable and swollen around him. “Do you feel that?” He breathed his question over her shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” Sansa nodded, too aroused to find the single syllable word that would have helped her sound somewhat less affected that she truly was.

Petyr rubbed their hands over their joining, playing with the natural lubrication her body kept producing with each lazy swipe up against her clit. While he’d let their fingers find that glorious little bundle of nerves, he wouldn’t let them linger, instead focusing mostly on where they met. Sansa whined the last time he carelessly slid over her nub, only to ignore it again. He acted as if he hadn’t heard her, but she knew quite well that he was revelling in her frustration. “Isn’t it perfect?” He asked. “How we fit together?” Before she could answer, Petyr finally shifted, breaking the short spell of motionlessness. Sansa felt the solid length of his cock slide under her fingers and bury itself deeper inside her sensitive flesh. Arousal gripped her low in her belly at the acknowledgement of such a primal possession. It sent her insides flexing and begging to take more.

Petyr let go of her hand and brought his back to rest just below her navel, as if somehow magically knowing the chaos that roiled there. His persistent press into her and slow retreat out of her was driving her crazy and whether his palm was meant to soothe the feeling or encourage it, she didn't know. While his hand may have left her, hers hadn’t. She dug ardently between her folds searching for the right rhythm, her thighs flexing in anticipation of reward.

“I don’t recall telling you that you could touch yourself,” he teased. Sansa ignored him, her fingers sprinting towards the edge. “Stop.” His voice deepened.

“No,” she panted. “I can’t. _I need_.”

He gripped her arm as he assured her. “I know what you need.” Sansa tried to resist him at first, but he was just that little bit stronger than her, and he managed to pull her hand away from herself. “And I said stop.”

The perspiration that had formed from their torturously slow fucking had dampened her forehead and made his chest and her back slippery. She was completely drenched between her legs both from her own juices and their sweat. The musky scent of such intimacy surrounded them in the confines of the Escalade and she only glanced up at one of the windows once to verify that it was indeed foggy from their exertions.

“Petyr, I need,” she whimpered, because she’d lost all ability to say anything else. Her thighs shook beneath her and she felt as though she would collapse if she didn’t come soon.

Somehow sensing her rapid decline, he locked his arm hard around her. His words in her ear sounded like more of a threat than an assurance. “If I have to hold you up, I will. Because, I’m not done yet.”

His slow and steady grind into and out of her, felt endless. She knew he must have been suffering as much as she, his knees protesting the position just as vehemently. Yet he would not relent and bring them release. It was then that Sansa realized this was the real domination. While he may have spanked her and pulled her hair, it wasn’t those rough moments that made her want to turn her back on her independence in favor of his hold over her.

Petyr never marked her with anything more brutal than an open palm. He never used his power to degrade her, call her filth as he extorted false promises of fealty to him. Petyr would never dry-fuck her like Jaime did Cersei and use the resulting pain to demand she vow never to leave him again. He was too smart for something like that. It would have never worked with her and he knew her well enough not to make that mistake.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t use their sex to give him some assurances. She told him to own her again, and he definitely delivered. His attention to her was slick and smooth, tender and persistent, and offered her absolutely no mercy. She was crumbling under the weight of such potency, and she could feel herself folding, desperate to come undone in his arms. If she thought for a minute that he’d allow her to, she would have turned around and licked the length of his scar before nuzzling into his throat and calling him ‘ _Sir’_ with how severely he’d been sapping her of her autonomy.

So lost in her needy thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the hand that reached under the tangle of hair, working the knot of material around her halter top. Until that moment her breasts had not been freed from the confines of her dress. How had she not noticed? Fuck. Her husband was good. Sansa inhaled deeply to hide the light chuckle she gave at the realization.

“What’s so funny?” He smiled into her neck.

Sansa shook her head. “I was worried you forgot about my tits.”

No sooner had the tie come loose, the straps that held her in place fell, had Petyr gave one hard thrust forward into the welcoming ache between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes fluttered shut as the open air felt cool against her bare breasts. There was a tickle at her ear that made her clench around him as his hands cupped and rubbed the heavy breasts that even her bra couldn’t handle most days. He blew cool air against the lobe he’d just licked. “It’s impossible to forget about these,” he confessed. “I think about them every day, even more since the kids.”

“You like them bigger?” She teased him, not knowing where the strength to be glib suddenly came from.

It didn’t last long. She shuddered when his grip tightened, clamping down hard on them. He thrust into her again as he corrected. “No. _Fuller_.”

Fuck.

She was melting around him all over again. A simpering heat radiated from her core and she felt herself drizzle down him, shivering in his arms. There was no controlling her breathing. She panted so loud at his thorough massage of both her breasts and her insides, that she barely heard him ask, “Did you feed my son today?”

The question felt like it came from out of thin air, so far removed from their current activities. Sansa shook her head, figuring he probably wanted to make sure she was empty before he started playing with them. She didn’t blame him for wanting to ensure he didn’t get a milky surprise when he dallied around that area. “A little,” she answered, not wanting to admit that none of her attempts had been full-feeds, just enough to take away the urgency of his hunger and the pressure from her breast.

“Good,” he groaned on a long hard thrust. “Still some left.” His hands squeezed her harder and she was sure she would find fingertip sized bruises along the perimeter of her breasts. “That day in my office.” She didn’t have to ask what day, having replayed it in her head a thousand times while she laid lonely in her bed. “When your tits started leaking because of what we did--because of _me_.” Her cheeks were flushed with the heat of their overexertion, and she didn’t think it was still possible to blush, but discovered quickly that she was wrong when he confessed, “I could have fucked you all over again just seeing the mess I’d made of you.”

She didn’t want to like it. A small voice inside of her told her to be stronger, be prouder. That tiny voice was smothered into silence when another surge of need rippled through her. Petyr dragged his teeth over the back of her neck, nipping before he asked, “If I squeeze them hard enough, will they get messy for me again, Sansa?”

Jesus, fuck.

She was a quivering mess in his hands and on his dick. There was no escaping the depravity his withholding caused her. Sansa shook her head frantically. “No.” They would just hurt more if he kept kneading and fisting them like he was. “Play with my tits,” she explained, needing him to find what he was looking for.

“ _Show me,_ ” he murmured into her neck.

Sansa reached down started pinching and tugging at her nipples, hoping and praying something would come out. Perhaps if it did, and it satisfied him, he’d finally let her come. Warm milk dribbled from her nipples and he moved to cover them, running over the resulting wetness.

Petyr kissed her neck before smiling into it. “Good girl.”

Air escaped through her grin, a silent chuckle of relief as his finger circled her sticky nipple. Petyr leaned over her shoulder, bringing his hand up for her to watch him lick his fingers. “ _Mm_ , you taste so good. My sweet, _sweet_ Sansa.”

She knew she should probably feel strange about it, but she couldn’t help but feel oddly complimented instead. Petyr rubbed the remaining milk that had come out, into her chest, squeezing her breast one last time before he gripped her hip again. His thrusts, while slow and rhythmically delayed, grew much more forceful. There was no denying the change in his attention as he pressed one palm to her back, and pushed it down, her face coming to rest on the floor beneath her.

There was no more massaging, no more rubbing and tugging, teasing or tickling, just a hot whimper at the end of a determined plunge. Her nose buried into the carpet, inhaling the new car scent whether she wanted to or not as she felt his entire body go rigid and tear out of her. She gasped in objection to the cum wash her ass in hot spurts that punctuated Petyr’s possessive groans of completion.

Wracked with pride and disappointment, Sansa squeezed her thighs together as he pulled her skirt down to cover the mess he’d made. He bscenely smeared it into the fabric before falling back. Sansa watched him catch his breath as he stared up at the ceiling, the orange light setting his scar ablaze from stem to sternum.

He looked so completely sated there, and she was torn between feeling glad of it and resentful. Had he completely forgotten her? She drew a deep breath, shaking and shivering with need as she told herself, _So what if he had?_ The whole point was to feel him again, and she’d definitely done that. He’d filled her until she shook with want from his alternated kisses and bites--until she didn’t know what she craved anymore. She was a heaving mess, squeezing at nothing, and tingling at a memory.

Fuck it.

There was no negotiating need.

Her fingers flew fast to address the ache, feverishly rubbing a compassionate, and completely solo tattoo. His voice was calmer, but still just as authoritarian as he said, “I don’t recall telling you to touch yourself.”

Frustrated tears filled her eyes as she appealed to him. “Petyr, _I need to_.”

He tapped one of his naked thighs. “Come, sit.”

Pulling her hand from between her legs was extremely difficult, but she managed it. Sansa had to remind herself that she’d gone so long without his affection, that she would allow whatever he needed from her, in order to ensure she didn’t face another long drought again. Sansa clenched herself shut as she crawled, each knee forward, an agonizing internal tease.

Petyr guided her to recline in his lap until he held her with one arm around her back, bracing her with his bent knee. Sansa’s heart beat fast as his other hand cupped her womanhood. His words were thick and his eyes warm and inviting as he said, “ _I_ take care of you.”

His proclamation sent her on a wave of pleasure, his fingers slipping between her folds to nurture the nub that he’d neglected before. Sansa closed her eyes, overcome by the reckless throb he diligently pressed. “ _Look at me_ ,” he demanded.

Prying her eyes open to obey his order, she felt caught in the vortex of his gaze. Gulping back air, unable to catch her breath in the pleasure that tore through her, Sansa relinquished control to the orgasm that left her quaking helplessly in his arms.

Completely shattered from the aftershock, Sansa watched him lift his fingers to his mouth and suck her clean from them for the second time that night. There were no dirty, sexy words to follow, as she expected. He simply closed his eyes in appreciation of her taste. Sansa couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, and therefore didn’t protest when he leaned forward and pecked a kiss at her forehead before whispering, “My sweet Sansa.”

They sat like that for quite a while, both wrecked on each other, the orange streetlight making their indecency visible. His fingers whispered gently over her skin, trailing the faintest of paths as he stared off in a distance. Sansa didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want her insecurity to intrude upon the intimacy they’d finally found again. So, she was rightfully annoyed with herself when she blurted against her will, “You didn’t cum in me.”

She could feel him smirk above her. He stroked the outside of her thigh as he laughed, “Don’t worry, I plan to later.”

“ _Oh?_ ” She laughed. It sounded much more nervous than she’d meant for it to and she looked away as she asked, “So, it wasn’t that I wasn’t…” She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question.

“What?” He looked down at her, giving her his full attention.

“Nothing, nevermind.” Sansa started to rise from his lap.

He caught her. “What is it?”

Too mortified to say it aloud, Sansa shook her head.

“Tell me. _Please_.”

She wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the way his voice softened on the last word. He was still vulnerable too. He’d completely and utterly claimed her, deliberately drawing out their sex, bringing her to brink of insanity and he was just as nervous and unsettled as she was. Sex really didn’t fix everything, but at least they were trying now, and it was a common place to start from. “Before...you said that Missandei hadn’t had a baby so…” She cleared her throat and ran her fingers through her hair attempting to tame the wild mess it had become, trying not to hide her face as she said, “She was probably tighter…”

“Oh, Sansa.” He crushed her to him.

It felt good, but it wasn’t an answer and it just made the panic rise in her throat. Was he truly not satisfied with her body anymore? Had Elenei ruined her? Had he been thinking it and not saying it for years? Sansa drew a deep breath into his chest, inhaling the mixture of sweat and cologne that she’d been rocking against all night. She was about to pull away in humiliation, when he held her cheek and guided her lips to his. His kiss was warm and comforting, not long enough to stir any further passion, but not so quick as to be confused for a courtesy. Her eyes blinked open to stare back into his as he hovered above her lips. “I believe I just showed you how perfectly we fit.”

 

 

 


	19. The Silent Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are not victims.

In theory, it should have been easy to avoid fucking a woman that had raked him repeatedly over the coals. One might even think it would be cathartic to deny the battle-ax who broke up his happy family and at best took joy in the pain she caused, or at worst, remained completely apathetic to it. Things were always different in practice, however. Having her so willing and available eroded his resolve by the millisecond. He craved her naked body against his, and he’d gone wild inside himself, pacing back and forth, tugging his self-restraint here and there, testing for weak links to break free. 

The moment Sansa climbed upon his lap and purred in his ear that she wanted him to _ take _ her back, the floodgates opened and no loosely knotted tie would hold. Petyr had lost all coherent thought while he chased his prey, barking orders at Stannis, shifting gears and squealing his tires, determined to catch his wife and give her exactly what she asked for. It took many deep breaths to resist the reflex to grip and grab once the car door opened, revealing her sprawled out on display for him. 

The sinful grin she wore held a touch of something else, something he hadn’t expected from her:  _ gratitude _ . Her own beast within was just as needy and demanding as his own, begging to be sated. It was with that knowledge that he allowed his passion to roar through him, killing and consuming any fight until they were both helpless to the frenzy. Each open-palmed smack against her perfectly round and supple ass complimented the reddened warmth that grew from the one before. The resounding claps echoing in their steamy vehicle, applauded the way in which he seized the booty he’d won in her torrid game of chase. 

And wasn’t she just  _ desperate _ for it? 

Panting and mewling in her delicate feminine voice, a love song that left him throbbing to sink himself to the hilt in her warm wet cunt. He would listen to her sing for him then. Fuck, just thinking back to it had Petyr smirking as he pressed down on his growing erection, tempted to live in memory.

If their time apart had taught nothing, it had at least made it abundantly clear that no one else would do. Not physically. Not emotionally. They were both hurting, disconnected, and twisting in the breeze. Yet, there was not a single person that had ever existed--or ever would, that could anchor them as securely as they did each other. 

So much animosity had passed between them in such a short time, ripping the solid ground out from under their feet. Most of what he thought he knew about her and their life together had been contradicted and torn apart by insecurity. It all made his head spin. With his confidence wavering, how could he ever be sure that he was giving her what she wanted?

When she dropped that shoe on his desk, it made everything all so simple again. She’d given him license to do what he saw fit. He didn’t have to second guess himself and wonder what she was looking for. Gone was the question of whether she wanted him to be the sensitive lover who looked to her for support, or the jealous husband who demanded her full attention, or even a kinky lech who delighted in playing with her.

She smiled over her shoulder, a glimmer in her eye before she dashed out the door, and all his trepidation vanished. Sansa had been honest and direct with him about her needs and while it definitely roused his appetite for her, it also softened the heartache he’d been suffering, too. If she could be like this with sex, perhaps she could with other things as well. 

Hadn’t she been, though? In the end--after it was too late--she was quite clear about what she needed from him: equality. She wanted to be more than just a prized possession. Petyr had always loved that about her. Sansa was never an innocuous decoration to usher from one party to the next simply to flesh out his own image, despite her perfect measurements and symmetrical features. Petyr had known from the moment she approached him at a benefit gala and spoken to him with an awareness that escaped most women, she would always be more than her appearance. 

She could be more, but he still preferred to manage everything for her, regardless. It was part of how a man cared for his woman, wasn’t it? If he solved all the problems, she’d always be happy. And wasn’t pleasing her his job--no-- _ privilege _ as her husband?

Petyr had no idea that his particular brand of devotion was essentially cutting her off at the knees and making her feel ‘dismissed,’ of all things. That was never the intent. Why couldn’t she have said so earlier? He guessed that it had never been severe enough, not until her brother ended up in the ICU. Sansa had every right to blow a gasket. He’d royally fucked up, and he hadn’t realized how long he’d been doing so until their separation. When she finally voiced her feelings of mistreatment over the years, his first response was to minimize and gloss over the issues. She was so angry, so unforgiving. Fear took over and he refused to face the full magnitude of his offense.

Having his worst fear realized gave him the courage to own his mistake, but it was only through their rejoining that he was finally able to fully appreciate the need to give her words credence. She was solid and real in his arms, no longer out of reach across the wide expanse of their king sized bed. Never wanting to suffer such distance again, he would listen to her when she voiced her needs. He had been hesitant and careful, treating every shared moment with excruciating fragility. Petyr would let her set the pace. When she asked him to take some ownership of their relationship and the way he touched her, it thrilled him as deeply as their first date had. 

To do so, he had to break her will with his lust, reminding her that only he could sate her. Create a need and reinforce it, petting her pussy in praise each time she turned to him. It was a grooming that she’d asked for, knowing the magical word to gasp should she ever wish for it to end. Even though she was feeling more and more like his again, he was struck with the sudden urge to mark her. He had colored her flesh when he spanked her, but it wasn’t enough. Petyr wanted more.

It was childish, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want her to simply straighten her skirt and act like nothing happened afterwards. This was not casual, damn it! He couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t easily push it aside and forget what it meant as soon as their breathing returned to normal.

Petyr would have her messy. He’d have her feel the tacky proof of his claim to her, and sit in it all the way home. It started with her breasts because they were a part of herself that she shared with the children. While the more civilized side of him understood and encouraged that, his basest self resented any limitations placed on his handling of her. With her eager help, he rubbed her milk all over her chest, putting to rest any doubt that those tits were free to be used at his discretion. 

The tell-tale tingles of orgasm were on the horizon and he pulled free from her to white-wash her ass. It was one thing to know that a woman carried your cum, but it was a very different thing to see her wear it for you. It was a sight unrivaled. Not wanting to give her the chance to clean herself up, he dropped the skirt of her dress down over it, letting it rub and mash and smear. No. There was no way that Sansa could simply fix her hair and go on about life acting as though he hadn’t just obliterated her with his cock.

When they left the Escalade to get in his car, he smiled proudly to Stannis standing with his boys. He had been studying the tops of his shoes as if they were the most interesting things in the world and Petyr chuckled at the commissioner's modesty. The uniformed officers gaped at him and Petyr strutted over to Sansa’s door, letting them take note of how he opened the door for his wife--his thoroughly fucked woman. 

She was completely subdued and beyond beautiful for it. Already lounging over the console when he got in the driver’s seat, she clung to him, snuggling into his arm. Her palm rested inside his shirt, lazily caressing his scar with her thumb. It was hers to play with and it pleased him when she did, so he thought nothing of turning to peck a kiss at the top of her head. It felt right and he did it again when he put the car in gear and drove them home. 

They didn’t speak, and he was certain that they would still have to at some point, but it simply wasn’t the time. It hadn’t been the time either, when he walked her to the shower, taking great care to wash himself from her. He was helpless to the siren call of her full pouty lips and hopeful eyes as he nudged her back against the cool tile and pressed himself into her again. Sansa looked surprised for only a second before she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and accepted him. It wasn’t the slow grating sex they’d experienced in the back of the car, but neither was it animalistic rutting.

It was a peace offering. 

He locked eyes with her as he moved within her, silently promising to listen. As if somehow knowing his mind, she leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t enough, and he knew that. The only way to assure direct communication between them was to actually talk about it, but the only sound he could bear to hear coming from her mouth was one of bliss.

When they finished, he tucked her in bed beside him and folded her in his arms, refusing to let her wander away even in a state of sleep. He’d woken up not long after to the steady reflexive grind of his groin against her ass. Whether she was awake or not, he wasn’t sure as he reached down to tease her opening. Petyr closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to her shoulder as he gently shifted himself into her, relieved to feel she was just as wet as he was hard. His thrusts were slow and lazy, but finished him all the same. He still couldn’t be sure whether or not she had been awake for it with the sleepy way she moaned into her pillow. Petyr wanted to care more about that, always preferring her full engagement in their intimacy, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to. She was his and not simply by his choosing, but instead by her telling. He would enjoy taking such liberties as only a lover’d be allowed. 

He’d fallen asleep again, face burrowed into the back of her head, her hair still damp from the shower hours prior. When he woke, it was to a tingle and a shiver. Sansa was further down the bed, laying over his thigh, her soft lips wrapped around his cock, succling and bobbing her head. His breath caught when her tongue laved the underbelly of his erection and her eyes opened to peer up at him. Though she never stopped, he could see the slightest of dimples forming on either cheek and he knew she was enjoying her influence over him as well. 

Petyr urged her up to straddle him, and she rode enthusiastically until her breath caught and she collapsed forward, his hips taking over as he clutched her to him. He ran his hand over her hair and down her back, kissing the top of her head and praising her as she sobbed through her orgasm. It was clear that she had missed him as much as he had missed her. Petyr finally appreciated how damaged she, too, was from their separation; no longer hiding behind a such a hardened exterior. 

And so they carried on like that, sleeping in each other’s arms and waking to take pleasure in one another until there came a point when they both remained unconscious for more than an hour, their bodies having completely given out. He finally woke to the sound of the shower running and when he felt the bed for Sansa, knew that’s where she had to be. It would have been nice and flowed with the theme of the past twenty-four hours if he joined, but he simply couldn’t follow. Each muscle in his body demanded respite from the abuse it had suffered every time he settled between her legs. 

Listening to all of his joints crack as he flattened the soles of his feet on the floor and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Petyr knew they couldn’t hide behind sex anymore. Life had to go on, and it wouldn’t from the confines of their bed. He forced himself up and stifled groans of discomfort as he readied himself to greet Varys and Olyvar, appreciative not only for their devoted watch over the children but for the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. 

Dinner was the perfect distraction from having to face Sansa with their clothes on and his cock tucked away. She smiled warmly at him from across the table, their children and their company to either side, saving him from having to say much. Petyr had never minded speaking, but now he felt adrift. 

When Sansa moved back in with him, before she wanted him back--before she was willing to give a little--he still had her number. She was not someone he could simply cease all dealings with, breaching into every facet of his life. He was forced to coparent with her because she had as much right to the kids as he, and he included her in business because it was a smart move. Conversely, he let her touch him because it wasn’t, and when he finally fucked her, it was because he couldn't resist. 

What was left now? 

Her moving back in instilled a modicum of hope, and that was something that had been beaten out of him. If things were to work out this time around, he would have to include her more, and she would have to be careful not to trigger his fear of abandonment. Davos said that the only way to accomplish such change would be through communication. It would have to be like the morning she’d woken up after her date with Oberyn; their dialogue would have to be completely transparent and vulnerable. 

Unsure if he could offer her that right away, he moved swiftly to his office after dinner, bidding both Olyvar and Varys goodnight. If Sansa noticed his hasty retreat, she didn’t comment on it, attending to Durran when he began to squawk. Secure in the sanctity of his office, Petyr felt cowardice seep in, asking himself whether they truly did need to talk at all? 

What did Davos know?

Perhaps they wouldn’t have been able to be so intimate if they hadn’t yet resolved their issues. Surely, they had said everything by now. No, they hadn’t been curled up beside the fireplace, sipping wine and holding hands while they promised to communicate better. Neither had they sat at the dining room table, negotiating terms for a stronger marriage, sliding a contract back and forth, riddled with clauses to scrutinize before being signed. 

But they had spoken. 

In the worst of times. Sometimes it was more  _ at _ each other rather than  _ with _ . Regardless, the message was still sent and received. Their behavior could be modified because of it, no drawn out conversation. Petyr told himself that their efforts may actually mean more if they resulted from previous conversations, demonstrating that they listened to each other. They both already had the tools needed to change.

Sansa had taken the lead, evident when she chose him over her pride. When it hadn’t proven to be enough, she offered herself up for him to take, knowing that his ego needed it. Sansa liked her games, but he highly doubted that she would have been inspired to play Cinderella if she hadn’t been paying attention. Neither would she have accepted and reciprocated hours of friction for her apprehensive lover if she didn’t feel moved to provide for him. 

Petyr needed to change, too. He could see that now. She wanted him to include her in things, and though it didn’t come naturally, he would. The only way to tell her that was with effort and time. He’d been mindlessly scrolling through his emails considering this, when she walked in with Durran. “Elenei wants you to tuck her in.” 

“I’ll be right there,” he replied, not looking up from his computer. The immature part of him hoped that she would turn and leave. Not that he wanted to be without her presence, but he didn’t want any talk she may have attempted. Petyr had already resolved not to promise her anything, but instead to show her his effort through his continued actions. 

Sansa wasn’t leaving and neither was she saying anything. Petyr knew she was appraising him to see where he stood with things, having not had the chance before then. Of course, she would be questioning if it had just been sex between them the night before. He waved her forward. “Come here.” Again, deciding that actions spoke louder than words, he resolved to show her that the ground they’d gained extended past the bedroom.

There was a little bounce in her step as she came around the desk to stand at his side, Durran on her hip. “Yes?” 

“Closer,” Petyr teased, without looking. 

She bit her lip and took a step forward. “What is it?” 

“Have you fed him yet?” He asked.

The silence that followed was answer enough. She was so embarrassed by the fact that Durran was self-weaning, and she truly needn't be. Petyr had researched the issue and learned that babies could self-wean as early as eleven months, sooner if the mother experienced a lot of anxiety. 

The lives they lead guaranteed a certain level of stress, add to that a mob war, and a marriage that had been on the brink of divorce, it was only reasonable that his young, vibrant wife would be unnerved. She was not responsible for her body’s unconscious processes. For his part, Durran was so young and already so observant of others, sensing her state.

Petyr stared at her from the corner of his eye, and donned a playful smirk. “Can you undo your jeans one-handed?” 

Her eyebrow rose at the question, pausing before she nodded her head once. 

“So talented.” He turned away from his computer to give her his full attention. 

Sansa chuckled softly, and it was a beautiful sound. “I mastered that skill when I needed to pee and Elenei wouldn’t let me set her down without bawling.” 

It was nice to talk so lightly with her, so playfully. There was no undercurrent of anger or pain, no tension and reluctance. It reminded him of how they were before and he felt they could be again. “Is that so? Well, it’s to my benefit.”

Again, Sansa raised a questioning brow. 

“Unzip your fly and show me your panties.” It would have been more scandalous of a statement if he hadn’t already fucked her eight ways to Sunday, but he felt the simplicity of the directive would still garner a response.

Judging by the way her voice grew husky as she shook her head and said his name, it definitely was. “ _ Petyr _ -”

“I’m waiting.” 

“I’m holding Durran right now,” she explained, seeming to think that was enough of a reason not to comply. 

He flashed her a grin. “I know.” 

Sansa shifted her weight from one leg to the other and then pursed her lips. “I’m not fucking you while I hold our son. That’s my line.” 

Petyr laughed at that and shook his head. “No, no. I don’t expect you to.” 

“Then why do you want me to-”

“Sansa.” His face hurt from smiling. “Risk it?”

She tilted her head, scrutinizing him closely. Something he’d said struck a chord within her. “ _ Fine _ ,” she sighed, trying to look put out as her hand worked quickly to unfasten her pants, leaving them open and her purple cotton undies exposed. Petyr smiled at the little brown monkeys polka dotting the material.

“Monkeys,” he acknowledged and then leaned forward to bring the tip of his nose to the top of her mound, nuzzling it into the fabric. “Mm,” he moaned at the musk that emanated from beneath the silly undergarment. 

Her moan matched his. “Mm,  _ Petyr _ .”

Unable to stop himself from taking it a step further than he originally planned, he gently caught her flesh between his teeth, the cotton doing a poor job of protecting her. She gasped, “ _ No _ . We can’t. Durran. Just let me put him down and then we can-”

“Shh,” his lips vibrated, blowing hot hair against her. When she quieted, he breathed in the scent of her one last time before he pressed a kiss over the thin cloth that covered her nub, and stood up. “Take a bath.” 

“Excuse me?” She asked, incredulous. 

Petyr reached down to grip the front of her pants as he stared into her eyes. “All the research says that high levels of stress can make babies wean early.” He pecked a kiss to her lips to disrupt the fretful furrow of her brow. “Take a bath and relax. Use that lavender oil that you like.” Once he had pulled the zipper all the way up, he took Durran from her arms. “I’ll get him to bed and tuck Elenei in.” 

“But I showered not three hours ago,” she argued dully. He wasn’t sure why she was protesting something as benign as a bath.

Unsure what the issue could be, he opted for humor and grinned as he nudged her toward the door. “Worried about the water bill?” 

She stared back at him with a bewildered expression. “I thought you were going to…” 

Petyr grinned. “As much as I’d love to  _ explore your depths _ again, I think it's more important that you unwind.” When she just stood there, blinking at him, he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. “Go on. Draw yourself a nice warm bath.”

“Will you join me?” She asked as he lead her into the hallway. 

“I doubt that would be relaxing,” he teased. 

“It would be less so without you.”

Petyr eyed the solemn expression on her face, and knew she was telling the truth. Sansa was still just as vulnerable as when she lay in his arms and asked him if her body felt good enough to keep his attention, whether or not the awful things they’d said during the War of the Baelishes held a grain of truth. He swallowed back the emotion brought on by the memory. “Start without me. I will get the kids to bed and then I’ll be in.” 

She smiled then, relief visibly easing her expression. Petyr held up his palm for Durran to smack and pick at, as he watched her walk down the hall to their room. Her obvious desire to have him with her in all things was staggering. Had she ever loved him this much?

Davos would have challenged him, asked him if it was love or insecurity. That would have been rich. Insecurity was such a strong part of who Petyr was, and Sansa had always presented the opposite. Perhaps when she extended herself so far to align with him, the price she had to pay to do so was her own confidence. How else could she understand him enough to know exactly what he needed? 

He hated to think that she had lessened herself any to reach out to him in a way that he could actually accept, having always valued her strength and confidence. Petyr set Durran in his crib and turned the mobile on, considering that it was in fact those qualities of Sansa’s that made it possible for him to partner with her. Allying himself with a woman similarly flawed would never appeal. 

He gently closed the door on Durran’s soft cry, and walked across the hall to Elenei’s room. Sleep weighed down her eyelids, forcing her to look at the glow in the dark constellations on her ceiling through tiny slits. Her voice was a faint whisper as she told him, “Mum already said the rules with me.” 

“Mm,” Petyr smiled. He knew she would have. It was her idea to recite these rules from infancy so that they would be ingrained in them before they ever held a gun. Petyr looked down at the deep black tangle of hair splayed across her disney princess pillowcase and the small button-nose that helped him find her cheek to kiss. “Then it seems you’ll get a double dose tonight.” 

She sighed, too tired to voice any complaint. Petyr checked the time on his phone to see that it had only been four minutes. He still had six. “Treat all guns as though they are loaded…” He recited the rules as his mind wandered to the woman who ripped his heart to shreds. Just when he thought he’d die, she reached into his chest, squeezing his heart in her hands, applying pressure until it beat again. No one else could have done that for him, just as no one else could have done that _ to  _ him in the first place.

He kissed Elenei’s forehead as he rose from her bedside, having spoken the last verse of their nighttime routine. She snuggled the stuffed unicorn he’d given her and her breathing turned heavy, drifting into sleep. Petyr glanced at the time. Eleven minutes. He’d gone over. 

Shit.

Striding across the hall back to Durran’s room, Petyr cooed down to the infant who stood up in his crib to protest his bedtime. It was awful to watch, every muscle in his tiny body vehemently taut, tears streaming his cheeks as he railed against the cherrywood rungs that held him. It would have been so easy to pick Durran up and soothe him instantly, but that wasn’t the agreed upon plan.

Instead, Petyr leaned over the side of the crib, rubbing circles over the expanse of his son’s back as he kissed and whispered into the fine russet hair at the crown of his head. His loud cry turned to disgruntled groans around a rogue yawn and prolonged blink. Slowly, Durran sank down to his bottom on the mattress and laid on his side. Petyr kept rubbing his back, smiling down at his determination to stay awake. He was so young, so new to this world, and yet so much of his character had shown to mirror theirs; the perfect Baelishes-blend. The ardor with which the boy raged against what he deemed unjust was easily attributed to Sansa, while his tendency to calm quickly at physical touch was undeniably Petyr.

Durran yawned again, rubbing his eyes and nose with the back of his hand before he rolled over, and Petyr tucked him in. He tiptoed out of his room and shut the door, noting the time as he did. Ten minute increments were what all the reputable websites said was appropriate in sleep training and self-soothing. Petyr was relieved when Sansa said she didn’t feel comfortable allowing their children to simply “cry it out,” deeming it important for their children to feel secure that Daddy and Mummy would always save them. Petyr agreed and thought that was the end of the conversation at first, but she continued to say that she also didn’t want the children to never learn to solve their own problems. She wanted them to be able pull themselves together when the situation called for it and he couldn’t have agreed more and felt like bedtime was the best opportunity to learn this life lesson. 

Four minutes had passed and the cry was much weaker than it had been before. Petyr fought the urge to look in on him, knowing that once the hall light filtered in and hit the crib, Durran would find his energy renewed. Petyr leaned against the wall in the hallway, staring at the ceiling as he listened the cry die down to a grumble. He hoped that Sansa was taking advantage of the time to relax, and pictured her lounging in the tub, hair draped back over the rim, the warm water reddening her skin and soothing her neck and shoulders. He hated how large of an impact their war with the Lannister’s had on her. If he had his way, he’d keep her safely tucked away from all of it. Not that she would ever allow it.

Sansa had run from him because she resented being insulated from the outside world and the various problems it brought. Not even the danger of an all-out war would dissuade her from wanting to play an active part, particularly since it involved Cersei Lannister. There was something about the woman that Petyr could never put his finger on. Sansa was drawn to her more so than any other frenemy, and he knew she would take extreme measures into her own hands if necessary to ensure she not be left out in any dealing with Cersei. 

Just when Petyr was about to check his watch again, he noticed how much quieter it had become and pressed his ear to the door, listening for any indication that Durran may be upset. It was while intently listening to the sound of his own breathing in the silence of a sleeping baby muffled through the solid oak door, that Petyr startled when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He closed his eyes and drew a calming breath before he pulled his phone free. 

Capital letters running across the screen exclaimed loudly: ATTACK ON WOLFSWOOD!

Petyr’s eyes darted to the sender; it was Jon. Another text followed:  _ I’ve been compromised. _

Oh shit, Arya. 

No. 

Petyr’s thumb slid to his contacts and pulled up Arya’s code name, tapping twice to call her instantly. It didn’t ring but instead went straight to voicemail. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath to pacify the panic that was burgeoning. It was important to think with a clear head, not a weak gut. If Wolfswood was actually under attack, Varys would be the one telling him. The fact that it was Jon meant that he found out ahead of time while he was following Myrcella. There was still time. He had to get Arya out of Wolfswood and he had to find a way to rescue Jon. If he had been compromised as he put it, that meant he had either been captured or was on the run from the Lannisters. 

Frustrated to find Arya not answering her phone again, he dialed Bronn and heard the man’s voice before he ever heard a ring. “Johnny-Boy already warned us.”

“Yeah and it’s _ fucking bullshit _ !” Arya screeched in the background. 

Petyr felt the tension in his shoulders ease at the sound of her voice. Not only was Arya safe and sound, but she was also pretty pissed off. She sounded much closer as she growled through the phone, “That’s  _ my _ fucking bar, for fuck’s sakes! Go blow up each other’s mansions and leave my shit alone! I mean it, so fucking help me, Petyr. I will-” 

She was cut off before she could finish the threat and then Bronn’s voice sounded distant as he addressed her rather than Petyr. “ _ Alright _ , Punky. He gets it. Enough.”

Petyr smirked at that, too relieved to care about whatever threat he hadn’t heard. Bronn’s voice was calm but equally annoyed. “As you can tell, she’s a bit riled.” 

“ _ Riled?  _ Really? Are you fucking kidding me? I’ll show you RILED!” Arya’s rage was followed by the sound of loud crashing. 

“Where are you now?” Petyr asked, picturing Bronn ducking from whatever she was throwing. 

“Aww come on, Love.” Bronn spoke away from the phone. “ _ Not Tyene! _ ” 

“Oh it’s  _ ‘Love’ _ is it now? How convenient.” There was a loud splashing sound and then Petyr heard Arya say, “At least you can dive for her, my bar is fucking  _ done _ !” 

That wasn’t true. Bars could be rebuilt, but it was hardly the time to say so. “Bronn?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Where are you?” Petyr repeated. 

“On my boat. I brought Punky here when Johnny-Boy texted,” Bronn answered. 

Arya screamed in the background, “Fucking  _ dragged _ me, more like!” 

Bronn sighed. “There was no time, Love. It wasn’t a discussion.” 

_ And thank god it wasn’t _ , Petyr thought to himself. “Where’s Gendry?” 

“Out of town, building some skyscraper or whatever it is that welders do. Shame, too. I could have used his help.” Bronn sounded tired. The man showed his age in his receding hairline and the laugh lines on his face, but never in his demeanor. He always seemed to have a bounce in his step that others lacked, even on the longest and hardest of jobs. Alone on a boat with an angry Arya on the other hand, had definitely taken its toll, sapping him of all his energy. “She’s loud, but she’s right. Your business is affecting hers.” 

Petyr knew he wasn’t talking about financial compensation. Arya was as rich as any Stark, and bankrolled her bar because it was her home and she took responsibility for the people in it, making them a second family. Granted, it was a family of miscreants and outlaws, but wasn’t everyone’s? The organized crime families that he and Sansa dealt with were no better than the biker gangs that took refuge in Arya’s little hole in the wall. They were just better at hiding their nature to the boring law-abiding public. “It was never our intent. The situation will be dealt with immediately.” As soon as he knew Jon was safe. 

“See that it is, Baelish.” There was warning in Bronn’s tone that Petyr hadn’t heard in years. It served to remind him that Bronn was his own man, not one of his. Loyalty didn’t factor into his decisions. “Punky’s special to me and she’s not having our baby on my boat.”

Petyr was certain Bronn’s guy for that sort of emergency, should the need arise, would be enroute to his own house as soon as he got through to Varys. He cleared his throat and responded, “Understood.”

“Good.” Bronn sighed, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it looks like I’m going for a bit of a swim. Bye, Baelish.” 

Petyr didn’t bother asking, but listened to Arya’s low voice off in the distance, sounding particularly defeated and tearful. “Sorry, Bronny-bear. I just-” 

Bronn hung up before he could hear anything else, and Petyr pulled his phone from his ear to send Jon a text message.  _ Where are you right now? _

His heart sank knowing he would have to tell Sansa. They were her family and while Arya was safe, Jon was not. He took a couple of reluctant steps down the hall, thinking of how best to tell her. His phone vibrated in his hand and he read,  _ River Road. _

River Road was about twenty minutes away, the main road leading out of Lannister territory. His phone vibrated again with another message from Jon, a continuation from the last.  _ On foot.   _

On foot? Jesus. Petyr typed quickly.  _ A car’s on it’s way. _

He pulled up his contacts quickly to find Varys when his phone indicated an incoming call from the man himself. Accepting the call, Petyr spoke first, “Varys-”

“Wolfswood-”

“I know. Arya’s fine. Jon’s been compromised. Send a car to pick him up on River Road.” Petyr ordered into the phone over a beeping in his ear. A quick glance showed that Cersei was calling Sansa’s phone. He hoped she hadn’t brought it into the bathroom with her. 

“What’s he driving?” Varys asked quickly. 

“No car. He’s on foot.” 

There was the briefest of silences as that sank in. His voice was somber when he replied, “I am sorry, Petyr.” 

He didn’t want an apology, only a living, breathing cousin to deliver to his wife. Jon said that he’d been compromised, and if he was running on foot, he had to have barely got out alive. Who knew what wounds he’d sustained. Ignoring Varys, he added, “Arrange for the doctor to make a house call.” 

Petyr didn’t wait for Varys to respond before hanging up quickly and looking to see that Sansa had answered the Lannister queen. He tapped into the conversation in time to hear, “Bran. He should have died in that car, not my baby. But to be entirely honest, Sansa, I always got the feeling that you just don’t love him enough to feel the pain of losing him. Not like how Jaime and I do for our boys, anyway. Arya on the other hand, that would really fuck you up, wouldn’t it?” 

Jesus Christ. 

“A sister for a brother is more than fair.” Cersei’s nonchalance was maddening. “Unless you’re counting the baby too, in which case I guess I can see why you’d be a Bitter-Betty about it.”

Silence followed and Petyr knew her words were a punch in the gut to Sansa, who didn’t have the luxury of knowing that her sister was safe. He had to get to her. “You can’t be upset about that shithole bar.” Cersei sighed. “If anything, Jaime and I did you a favor burning that dilapidated trash heap. Now you can build something better there. I mean, it’s out in the middle of nowhere, so not anything too good. Probably a Candies factory outlet or a maybe a strip mall. You could do a flea market, but we both know that while you may be a wretched cunt, you’re at least better than rummage tags.” She paused for only the span of a breath before she added, “At least I hope, anyway. It would be beyond depressing to find out my ex-bestie got wet for second hand.”

She was egging Sansa on, and Petyr didn’t know whether or not he should be pleased by the lack of response from Sansa’s end. Cersei clearly didn’t know either because she asked, “What? Come on, Little Dove! I bet all those displaced bikers would appreciate a nice tight-fitting pair of Gloria Vanderbilts to muffin-top over.” She laughed into the phone, and when Sansa still gave no response, she added, “No? Maybe some Jordaches? A broken bic to shave the obligatory knee-holes works just as well on either.” There was a loud puff and then a slight giggle. “ _ Or so I’m told _ .” 

Petyr turned the doorknob to his bedroom, listening to the white-noise silence of Sansa. Frustration filled Cersei’s voice as she said, “The silent treatment? Seriously? What a fucking princess. You know you’re overreacting. I liked Arya as much as the next girl but,  _ fair is fair _ . And Jaime really liked Tyrion--I don’t know why, but he did and Baelish killed him. So, when you really look at it, me having your sister’s bar shot up and burnt to the ground--with her in it, was the wifely thing to do. You of all people understand how important it is to support your spouse. Or have you already forgotten your little  _ vacation _ ?”

He was across his bedroom in seconds, reaching for the door to the bathroom when it opened suddenly. Sansa stood in front of him wrapped in a towel, wet hair painted to her shoulders and back, clutching the phone to her ear. Her face was cold and unreadable, ice-blue irises seared through him. He let his hand drop, holding the phone at his side as he mouthed, “ _ Arya’s alive _ .” 

Sansa cocked her head, slowly piecing together what she’d read from his lips. When it registered, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A single tear of release rolled down her cheek to drip on the brim of her towel. Cersei’s voice echoed from below his hip. “If you’re not going to talk to me, I’m just going to hang up!” 

Petyr pressed the earpiece to his thigh, as if that would muffle the very distinct sound of Cersei’s crowing. Sansa stared meaningfully at him when she pulled the phone from her ear and pressed the button to end the call. Her voice was horse as she verified, “Arya’s okay?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he breathed, closing the gap between them. 

She gasped, her chest heaving with each hyperventilation, more tears flowing to meet the first. She didn’t protest when he wrapped his arms around her, bracing her as sobs racked her body. Her muffled voice told him how distraught she was, how completely sick to her stomach. 

“I know,” he cooed into the side of her head as he gripped her tightly. Sansa had held herself together in the moment, standing strong against the enemy that taunted her. She would only ever allow herself to fall to pieces when it was safe, and in that moment Petyr couldn’t have been more grateful that she felt that way with him. He kissed her ear again, and promised, “She’s fine. Bronn got her out in enough time.” 

Sansa pulled her head back to look at him, watery eyes sparkling as she asked, “How?” 

There was no point in prolonging it. “Jon warned her to get out.” 

“Jon?” Sansa furrowed her brow. “How did he know? He was supposed to be watching Myrcella.” 

Petyr wanted to ask her who she thought the smartest Lannister alive was now that Tyrion was gone, but thought better of it. “I don’t know all the details yet, but somehow he learned of the attack and warned Arya. Bronn spirited her away.” 

“And Jon?” Sansa asked, not missing a beat. 

“Will be here shortly.” Petyr added, “I put Varys on it.” 

Sansa took a step back at that, her voice grew suspicious. “Why would Varys be helping Jon get here? Why isn’t Jon just coming home?” 

“It’s my understanding,” Petyr paused to clear his throat. “That Jon has been discovered.” 

“By who?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Is he alright?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“When will he be here?” 

“I don’t know, Sansa.” 

A gust of cold air assailed him when she whirled away, turning her back on him as she threw the door to her closet open. He reached for her. “Sansa-”

“No. It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” She waved him off, slipping into a pair of jeans. 

Her shirt was over her head when Petyr fumed, “ _ We’ll  _ get to the bottom of this.” 

“That’s what I said,” she scowled, pulling the shirt down. 

“No. That wasn’t what you said.” Petyr crossed his arms in what Davos would have called a ‘closed posture.’ The moment he realized it, he dropped his hands to his sides. Damn that man and his therapy. 

Sansa scrunched her face in irritation and tried to walk around him. When he blocked the door, she raised her voice. “Cersei put a hit on my sister and Jon could be dying right now for all we know. Do you really want to nitpick my vernacular?” 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” She sighed, trying again to get around him. 

Petyr refused to let her by. “Dismiss me.” 

Sansa scoffed. “Dismiss _ you _ ? That’s funny.” She crossed her arms and then immediately dropped them to her sides. Petyr wondered if Davos was having the same impact on her that he had with him. Her tone sharpened as she said, “As I remember it, it was the other way around not all that long ago.” 

He looked down, breaking. “I apologized for that.” 

“And I never forgave you for it,” she reminded him. 

“I don’t need you to,” he answered quickly. That took her by surprise, the anger and frustration on her face fading. “And you didn't need to forgive me to move on with me, either.” Petyr pursed his lips as he insisted, “We're moving on together, with or without forgiveness. But, if I’m never going to do it again, you need to actually be open to that possibility. Not just keep expecting me to fuck up. I can’t keep paying for the same crimes for the rest of our lives together.” 

Sansa stood in front of him, unmoving. Silence filled the air as she stared almost through him, deep in thought. Finally, she asked, “Do you mean that?”

He wasn’t sure which part she was referring to, but he had meant everything he said so he simply tipped his head in affirmation. Sansa stepped toward him, pressing her palm to his heart. Her head found his shoulder again and she whispered, “I  _ do _ want to move on with you. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives too.” 

Jesus. Was this the open and direct communication Davos was talking about? It overwhelmed him and once felt, he thrived in the overstimulation. Their mutual desire to be together till their dying day, had been implied by the fact that they remained married, but so much between them had been tentative that he couldn’t blame her for seeing how important it was to reassure each other. Besides, with the current state of affairs in the city,  _ the rest of their lives _ may not have been that long. “We will be, Sansa. We just  _ both _ have to include each other.”

“You’re right,” she mumbled into him. 

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What was that? I’m not sure I heard you correctly. You should say that again.” 

Sansa tried to hide a smile behind a groan when she said, “Shut up.”

Petyr let his hand drop to playfully pinch her ass, teasing, “Come again?” 

It would have been beyond inappropriate to anyone else looking in. Sansa’s family had been attacked, emotions were running wild and no one knew the extent of the injuries Jon surely sustained. Neither of them should have been laughing or teasing, but it felt right to them. The tension was high and rather than continuing to tear each other down, they pulled strength from their relationship. 

He was still blithely smiling when he felt Sansa’s hand move down to cover his, picking at the phone he held in it. “Were you listening in on me and Cersei?” 

The question came out of nowhere, ripping him from bliss and freezing him in place. His mind raced to find an answer that wouldn’t break the shaky peace treaty they seemed to create the moment before. “Why would you think that?” 

Sansa started to pull back and his arm locked, keeping her pressed against him. She looked up and rather than trying to resist his hold, she slid her hands to his shoulders and met his gaze. It was only then that Petyr noticed the slightest of quirks to her lips. Was she playing with him? Her eyes were alight as she pointed out, “Liars avoid questions with questions.” 

Oh, she was definitely playing with him. Somehow she knew about the wiretap on her phone. Petyr tried not to glance over to the camera in their bedroom, wondering what else she knew about. He decided to play along to find out. “And only ball-busters ask questions they already know the answer to.” 

She tilted her head and then grinned, apparently deciding to take pity on him. “It’s rude to tap your wife’s phone.” 

He held his breath, waiting for her to berate him. When she didn’t say anything else, he exhaled and thanked his lucky stars she didn’t seem to know about the cameras. Just because they were trying to start fresh, didn’t mean they didn’t still need some small things to keep just for themselves. For Sansa, it was her trips to the shooting range with Arya, and froyos with Jon. For Petyr, it was his personal all access pass to Sansa. It was how he coped whenever he couldn’t be with her. Any time he started to miss her or felt worried about her, he could pull up the feed. Hell, even when they weren’t speaking and he tried to hate her, he would pull up the feed and glare at her for being so beautiful and detestable in even the mundanest of activities. 

Petyr watched Sansa and that was all there was to that. It wasn’t something he could ever give up and to ensure he was never made to, he worked hard to keep it a secret. If he had to, he would give up access to her phone to keep her from discovering the video feed in their home. He cleared his throat. “How did you know?” 

“It was the smart thing to do, Petyr. We separated and you didn’t know what I was up to or who I was dealing with. To be honest, I expected nothing less of you.” She let her palms grip and knead his shoulders and neck. She smiled playfully as she added, “What I didn’t expect--and I should have, was that you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from listening once you started.”

The blood in his body rushed south, his cock throbbing as he recognized the flirty tone in her voice. As usual, Sansa was getting off on his obsession for her, and he couldn’t have loved her more for it. There was simply no denying she was his perfect match. No other woman could have appreciated him past his power and money. Sansa loved him beyond all of that. Their separation and the way she put an end to it was proof enough. The sudden urge to yank her pants down and buck madly into her sent a shiver through him.

Her hands caressing him, easing all the tension away, was not helping. Petyr closed his eyes and schooled his expression. Thoughts like that at a time like this would only frustrate him further. He was being caught and had to act the part. If he were as caught as he was pretending to be, he would have expected her erupt in fury when she found out, rather than give him a massage. “You’re not angry?”

She laughed at that and leaned in, letting her lips land on his. They tasted of the wine she’d taken to the bath with her and he fell further into their kiss when she hooked her arms around his neck and tilted her head, his cock still hard from her need to be adored. It would have been so easy to pick her up by the ass and push her against the shelves behind her. Just when he was about to relent and make that maneuver, Sansa broke their kiss and breathed, “No, Petyr. I’m not mad.” 

Her lips were full and pouty as she spoke. “You saw an opportunity and you took it. I can’t be mad at you for that. But I won’t have my communication monitored as if I were a prisoner, so I’m telling you now that it has to stop.” 

He answered quickly, offering no argument. “I will have the software uninstalled immediately.” 

Perhaps he should have feigned more resistance because she eyed him suspiciously. After a second, she continued, “And I am sorry that I was dismissing you. I didn’t mean to, I was just worried about Jon.” 

She was being surprisingly reasonable all of a sudden. “And you’re not now?” 

Petyr adjusted himself, suddenly aware of how quickly he’d put the man from his mind, basking in the glow of her attention. Sansa shook her head. “I am. But you said you were sending someone for him. He’s alive and help is on the way. That’s all anyone could have done and you did it.”

He knew she valued his skills before, but her saying it so plainly grew his heart too large for his chest and he rubbed at the tightness of it. If she kept on like that, being so open and honest would surely do him in. Before he did something truly lewd, he took her by the hand and lead her out of the bedroom. He would fix her a drink while they waited for Jon. 

The good doctor came first, and waited in the parlor with them, picking at the books on the shelf as he tried to avoid small talk. Thoros didn’t appreciate such house calls, but it was all part and parcel to the gig and he knew that. In truth the man should have been grateful it wasn’t a field somewhere with zero supplies to work with. Petyr knew he’d been in such conditions before. 

Fortunately, it wasn’t a long before Grafton’s kid, Gyles showed up on their doorstep. He had slung Jon’s arm over his shoulder and was dragging him along, blood painting the length of the walkway. He screamed, “Open up! He’s not gonna make it!”

The terror in his voice through the intercom propelled Sansa forward, flying to the front door and throwing it open. Before she could try to grab his other arm to sling over her neck, Petyr slid in between them and braced Jon himself. He glared at Gyles, “Did Varys only send you?” 

Gyles shook his head. “No, Lucas covered us. He’s still out there. I have to go back.”

“Leave him!” Sansa ordered. 

“I can’t. Father says not to cross Corbrays.”

She was as fast as lightening, her palm cracking across his face. She grabbed Gyles’ jaw before he could register the sting, digging her fingernails into his stubble. “So you’d rather cross a Baelish?” 

“Nnn-”

“On the table!” Thoros commanded, cutting off the young Grafton’s stutter as he scurried to the kitchen. Like any good surgeon, he believed in prep-work and had already laid out sterilized linens and all his instruments when he first arrived.Petyr and Gyles hefted Jon onto the table, wincing when his head smacked back against the hard surface. 

Jon was as white as a ghost, his hands twitching at his sides as blood dripped from the table beneath him. Sansa was over him in an instant with kitchen shears, cutting his shirt off. As near as Petyr could see he’d been shot in two different places, in the crook of his shoulder and in his abdomen, up high and to the left. That one was bleeding the most and Sansa pressed both palms flat over it as she crawled up onto the table. 

Petyr had seen enough of these types of injuries to know the strength of her hands alone would not save him, but instead the power of her full body weight forcing the wound to stop it’s bleeding. 

Gyles stated the obvious. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m here! I have blood for transfusions!” Varys shouted, gliding in with a cooler. Petyr didn’t ask where he came from, only felt grateful for the bags of blood he slapped on the table. Clear IV bags were quick to follow. 

The doctor shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. I can’t just use any blood.” 

“I know that,” Varys growled. “That’s why these are all A and O negative!” He pulled metal bars from his duffle bag and started to click them together to create an impromptu IV stand. Varys averted his gaze from Jon’s pasty white face as he worked and Petyr knew that even he was impacted by the possibility of Jon’s passing. There was a lump in his throat as he focused on pulling tubing from the bag. “Your patient is A negative.” 

Petyr would have been surprised that he knew Jon’s blood type, except that Varys’ attention to detail was what put him so far above others. It had also saved their asses more than a few times.

Tears ran down Sansa’s cheeks as she crouched on over Jon, her arms starting to shake from the force of her pushing. Petyr rolled up his sleeves and pressed his hands over hers. “This is my fault,” she whispered. 

“No,” he argued, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. 

She shook her head against his, sniffing as she said, “Jon doesn’t do surveillance. I shouldn’t have put him on this.”

He hated seeing her like this. Her decision wasn’t orthodox, but that didn’t mean it was wrong. She had a natural ability to rule, and he refused to allow his queen to second guess herself because things had gotten messy. This was war and there were casualties. “And if you hadn’t, Arya would be dead.”

Sansa’s eyes flashed up to him. They were startling, the soft black of her pupils turned tiny pinholes against the vibrant blue backdrop of dread. “He’s dying, Petyr.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

She glanced back down as if the body beneath her was all the proof she needed to base her case on. Petyr knew better. There was always more to a situation than whatever was in front of them. He kept his eyes on hers as he asked over his shoulder, “How bad is it, Doc?” 

Thoros touched his gloved hand to the bullet wound that Sansa neglected. “The shoulder isn’t anything to write home about, though I’d hate to see him use chopsticks later. Fine-motor...” His blue nitrile fingertips trailed down to where their hands pressed and he lifted them and touched around the blood soaked crater. He frowned as he said, “I’m ninety-nine percent sure this one got his spleen.” 

Sansa slid her hand back to the hole, pushing with renewed zeal and barked, “ _ Fix it then! _ ”

“I can’t fix it.” 

Varys’ voice turned deadly as he instructed, “Try.”

“Have you ever handled a spleen before?” Thoros shot back, his shoulders tensing. “It’s like trying to sew up jello!”

“You are called ‘The Surgeon’ for a reason,” Varys reminded him. 

Thoros turned away from Varys and grabbed Jon’s arm. He held up a needle as he growled, “I keep people alive. Yes. I take the quickest most certain path, and people keep breathing for it. You want extra, bring him to the hospital.” 

“Extra?” Varys scowled. 

Thoros drove the needle into Jon’s vein. “ _ Fixing _ a spleen is very hard to do--downright impossible in a kitchen.”

Petyr glanced to Sansa. Her cheeks had gone blotchy from crying and a sob escaped her. She’d cried so much for her family tonight.

No.

It couldn’t end like this. Jon mattered too much to her, and he was a good man. Before he realized what he was doing, Petyr called over his shoulder, “Gyles.” 

Grafton’s boy came to his side, at the ready. He was young, but already so like his father. Petyr knew if he showed him an ounce of kindness, he would follow him loyally to the bitter end. “Help motivate the doctor to do his job.” 

Gyles didn’t say anything in response, but the clicking sound of a gun cocking next to the good doctor’s head was answer enough. Thoros kept his head down, squirting antiseptic over the shoulder wound. He spoke much calmer than one would have expected for having been under a gun, literally. “I can’t fix his spleen here. But I can remove it.” 

“Remove it?” Varys arched a brow at him. 

“A man can live without a spleen, he just has to be more careful in life.” He bit his bottom lip and looked down as he explained, “The spleen filters blood and helps the body fight infections. I’m not kidding, without a spleen, a single shot of bourbon will be enough to knock him on his ass for hours. You don’t want to know what a common flu virus will do to him.” 

“We’ll invest in Purell,” Petyr growled. “Take the spleen. Keep him alive!” 

The room went silent but for Jon’s shallow breathing. Gyles kept his gun on the doctor as he worked, and Varys hung up bag after bag of blood beside the clear sedatives on steady drip. When Jon was all patched up they moved him to a guest bedroom and Petyr sent everyone home so he could hold his wife as she stood vigil over her cousin. Elenei was only up once in the early morning hours needing her water bottle refilled and Petyr was quick to jump up and appease her, not wanting her to ever discover either the bloody mess in the kitchen or her broken Uncle Jon. 

Jon on the other hand, woke intermittently throughout the night, determined to pass on whatever information he had. They were able to piece together what happened from his faint scribbles on a yellow legal pad that Petyr kept offering, and the fatigued signs his hands made before falling to his sides to recover. 

He’d gotten ambitious, tired of staking out in the car. Jon followed Myrcella on foot at times, trying to get close enough for more intel. It was during one of these closer supervisions that he was spotted. He hadn’t known that at first, or he wouldn’t have parked so closely to her apartment to continue his watch. There was a tap on the window and Jon was surprised to see Myrcella’s angelic face smiling at him through the glass. He’d opened the door, only to catch a mean left hook in the nose. His head snapped back and he staggered out of the car trying to catch his bearings. Before he had a chance to rediscover equilibrium, two Lannister goons were on him, zip-tying his hands behind his back.

Myrcella questioned him and each paid man took turns kicking and punching their way to a confession he never gave. It was sheer luck that her phone rang while she stood before him. The volume was raised enough for Jon to hear more than he knew she meant for him to. He heard Cersei’s voice tell her daughter that they were attacking Wolfswood, a sibling for a sibling. 

Myrcella sighed and told her mother that she was sure her father would love the gesture. The two Lannister women went back and forth, speaking as any mother and daughter would, seeming to forget that many lives would be lost due to their sense of familial love. Jon was swollen and bloody, rasping at her when she got annoyed by his incessant need to breath and stormed off. He was left alone with her goons, one clearly wishing to put him out of his misery already so he could go home and pop a frozen dinner in the microwave, and the other aching to make him bleed more. 

Judging by Jon’s dodgy description, it was Trant and Payne who held him captive, which only made sense. They weren’t Kevan, especially in personality, but their skills were noteworthy enough for the two to replace him. Jaime would have his best protecting his daughter. When Jon shared that he’d been untied and offered the chance to fist-fight for freedom, Petyr didn’t have to ask to know it was Trant. Lions were really just large cats and Meryn always did like playing with his prey before putting it out of its misery.

It was obvious that Trant never meant the offer seriously, intending to kill Jon in a ‘fair’ fight. Luckily, even though he was battered and bruised, Jon managed land enough serious blows to break free. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, completely unarmed and defenseless against the bullets that flew past him. He’d only been tagged in the shoulder when he’d realized that Myrcella left his phone in his pocket, never suspecting that he’d ever be able to reach it what with being bound. 

He ducked around the corner of a enclave to send a group text to Arya, Gendry, and Bronn. He didn’t wait for a response before he sent another text to Petyr and kept running. He was in the middle of breaking into a car to use when he heard a gunshot and felt a hot poker stab him through the abdomen. He abandoned the car and dragged himself to a dumpster to hide in. It was a miracle that Gyles and Lucas found him, Lucas staying after to fend off Trant and Payne.

Petyr tucked his hands in his pockets impatiently, knowing Lyonel would be expecting compensation for Lucas’ sacrifice. Whether or not the man lost his life getting Jon back to safety, his willingness to cover them, knowing the risks, warranted reward. Lyonel would be quick to point that out. 

When Jon passed out again, Petyr pulled his phone out and started scrolling through his contacts. “What are you doing?” Sansa asked, staring down at Jon as she spoke. 

“Having Bran moved,” Petyr admitted. “I should have done it sooner.” He had just gotten so caught up in everything and Cersei had said that she purposefully passed him over for Arya. She would have to know by now that Arya was alive and her thwarted attempt would only further provoke her wrath. Bran was the next logical target. 

“Why?” 

“What?” He looked up from his phone, surprised by the question. 

Her eyes never left Jon, and neither did her tone elevate higher than a calm whisper as she clarified. “Why would you displace Bran?” 

Displace? Petyr walked around Jon, his brow furrowing as he approached her. He wasn’t certain if it was a trick question or not, so he answered carefully. “For his safety.” 

It was then that he realized she wasn’t looking at Jon, but instead a million miles past him. Her expression was completely vacant as she said, “Removed from his home, away from his wife-”

“Yes, and heavily guarded,” he interrupted. He thought she would have wanted that for her little brother, despite what Cersei had assumed about her. Between the attack on Sansa and Elenei, Arya and Wolfswood, and the capture of Jon by Myrcella, it was time to call the pack home. 

Arya was the safest of all the Starks because Bronn had taken to loving her and he was easily the deadliest man that Petyr had ever met. Well, deadliest  _ sane _ man. Rickon and Robb would both be safe because they weren’t based in the city. Robb was out of the country entirely and Rickon lived at least two thousand miles away. Bran was a sitting duck, even if he wasn’t the favored target that Arya was.

Petyr wondered if Tyrion would still have mattered that much to Jaime if he’d heard his younger brother’s deathbed confession as he had. That was neither here nor there, however. It simply didn’t make sense for Sansa not to take every precaution possible to protect her family. He eyed her closely, trying to determine if perhaps she was so beset with worry that she’d lost reason. 

“Can he not be heavily guarded in his own home?” She asked, her tone surprisingly flat. 

He was bewildered by her resistance. “You know as well as I do, that he would be much safer here. Meera too.” He shook his head. “If you’re worried about the Reeds, I’ll handle them.” 

“ _ You’ll _ handle them?” Her brows lifted, bringing her face to life for the first time. 

Fuck. He hadn’t meant it like that. “Sorry. I meant  _ us _ .” Petyr cursed himself for the slip of tongue. It would take a concerted effort not to act on his urges to solve everything on his own, but he was willing to put in the effort. “ _ We’ll _ handle them, Sansa. Together.” 

He had to assume in the silence that followed that she accepted his correction because she did not pursue it further. There was, however, an edge to her voice when she carried on. “You said it yourself, Bran’s a man now.”

He blinked back at her, incredulous.”What are you saying?”

She bowed her head, rising from Jon’s bedside. “I’m saying that-” She faced him, her jaw tight and her tone deep. “We are not victims.”

“Of course not,” he agreed, glancing down to the balled up fists at either side of her.

They were shaking. “I refuse to act like one a moment longer.” Her eyes narrowed on him as she declared, “This will not go unpunished.” 

It was then that he noticed blood dripping from them. Sansa hissed, “We need to burn all Mormont cargo ships. Reduce them to ash in the harbor by this time tomorrow.”

“The Mormont ships?” These attacks were Lannister. Dany was a problem, yes, but a decidedly docile one. He reached for Sansa, asking, “Don’t you mean the Lannisters?” 

Sansa shrugged him off her as she growled, “No. _ I don’t. _ ”

“Alright,” he agreed. And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “I must admit, I am surprised you aren’t retaliating against Cersei for this.”

“Believe me, Petyr.  _ I am. _ ” She unclenched her fists, freeing her fingernails from the flesh of her palm. Only a small amount of blood trickled down. “It will hurt Cersei more if we focus our attention on Dany.” 

He reached for her again. “That’s ridiculous.”

This time, she allowed him to take her hands in his. “I know her. We can’t cower in fear. We have to ignore her, treat someone else as more of a threat. It will offend her to no end and eat her up inside.”

“How can you be so sure?” He didn’t want to doubt her, but it all sounded so grade school. They were in the middle of a war that was costing them many lives on both sides. There was no place for such petty antics in the battles they faced. He inspected the crescent moon abrasions that intersected her lifelines and clucked his teeth. His voice was gentle as he said, “Your poor hands.”

As if she hadn’t heard him, she insisted, “I know her weaknesses. Cersei can’t stand not having all the attention. It will drive her madder than she is now and she’ll do something incredibly stupid. When she does, we’ll be there waiting.” Sansa met her gaze, malice dripping from her grin as she said, “Prioritizing Dany over her will absolutely  _ shatter  _ her.” 

Petyr stood awed by the beauty of her bloodlust. If the way Cersei spun her wheels on the phone in the wake of Sansa’s silent treatment was any indicator of how hard she would take this next course of action, Petyr had no doubt that Sansa was right. Staring at her, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do more: hug her or fuck her.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted the order to burn all Greyscale ships, only too ready to follow her lead. Cersei was the key to killing Jaime, and Sansa was right, no one knew Cersei like she did. It was that knowledge that would win them this war, he was sure of it, leaving the Baelishes to rule the city in its entirety.

 

 


	20. Symbiosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a man asks a woman to marry him, he understands the privilege and responsibility involved.

Sansa came to stand beside Petyr, her arms crossing as she thought of the million other conversations she’d rather be having. Oberyn seemed oblivious to her disinterest, talking with his hands and pacing their study. While his tone was calm and his smile prevalent, there was a noticeable undercurrent of frustration. “This was not what was agreed upon.”

“And what exactly was agreed upon?” Petyr asked, unmoved.

Preparing to argue his case, Oberyn began, “We've been friends for many years, have we not?” He stopped his pacing and tilted his head as if to better punctuate his question.

Petyr was silent as he lifted his hand beside Sansa. She uncrossed her arms and let her own hand find his as she answered for him. “Regardless of that fact, you’ve come to discuss business. Let’s not get lost in nostalgia.”

The seriousness never left Oberyn’s eyes as he flashed some teeth to accompany his soft chuckle. He shook his finger at her and said, “You’ve got me there.” He then turned to address Petyr. “Your woman is sharp.”

“That she is,” he agreed, proudly.

Oberyn’s voice did not break their affectionate gaze. “Does she speak for you? Are you two joined in these business matters?”

Petyr rubbed the back of her hand before bringing it to his lips for a kiss. His eyes belonged to her as he answered Oberyn. “Sansa and I are joined in all things.”

There was more to the moment than just the statement that they were of like mind. Sansa could sense a deeper meaning in the way he silently declined to divide his attention from her to Oberyn. He looked as if at any moment he would leap from his seat and ravage her on the desk in front of them. Sansa ignored the constant vibration of her phone as she wondered what would have suddenly put him in such a mood--it wasn’t as if they hadn’t been intimate earlier.

The phone continued it’s annoying buzz. Sansa knew without looking that it was just another call from Cersei, and she’d been successfully ignoring those.

Oberyn spoke over the reverberation of her phone against the desk. “It is good to see your fences have mended and you act as one again.” He took a step forward, and Sansa noticed Petyr’s hold on her hand tighten for a fraction of a second before it relaxed.

He was jealous.

Sansa could have kicked herself for not seeing it right away. She would be making up for the things she’d said that night with Oberyn for _years_ to come, but they were things about Petyr and her--not their third wheel. She thought she’d made it clear, even through all the teasing and cruelty, that Oberyn wasn’t someone to be jealous of. Though, judging by the way Petyr ran his thumb over her hand, refusing to let it go, it probably wasn’t that clear after all.

“How could we not?” She chuckled and quickly moved to perch on the arm of Petyr’s chair. It would help to push herself further in his grasp. Her words were earnest as she insisted, “Our place is and always will be at each other’s side.”

She held her breath as she looked down to gauge Petyr’s response to her show of loyalty. His eyes softened as he kissed the back of her hand again before letting go of her to slide his palm to her back, allowing it to travel down to her hip. It steadied her on the arm of his chair, and allowed him the possessive hold she knew he preferred.

“Ah, lovers lost in each other. It is such a beautiful thing to behold. Reminds me of my lover left overseas…” Oberyn popped a toothpick in his mouth, chewing it as he said, “As you know, I’d send for her, but the city is still so chaotic.”

“Wars are like that,” Petyr quipped wryly.

“They are when one drags their feet through them,” Oberyn hissed.

Sansa scowled. “What are you implying?”

“The Lannisters attacked your family three days ago and yet the blood you wipe from your hands is not theirs.” He raised his palms in demonstration.

“Your point?” Sansa would force his tongue if necessary, not tolerating such insolent dramatics.

Petyr gave her a gentle squeeze before answering for Oberyn. “His point is that he wants vengeance for his sister, and can’t see how knocking off Mormont resources is going to afford him that.”

Sansa glanced over to Oberyn and then sighed. “Since you’re so aware of bloody hands, I’m surprised you’re not more focused on The Mountain himself rather than the Lannisters.”

“The Mountain is untouchable for another few weeks. The Lannisters aren’t,” he explained with a seemingly playful shrug.

“They are because we said they are,” she declared. "Besides, many men die while incarcerated surely something could be arranged."

"My sister's death deserves more than a sloppy prison yard shanking," he spat, indignant. His fist balled as he promised, "When this Mountain dies, it will be as a free man, with a fighting chance, by my merciless hands." His teeth grit together in a disingenuous smile. "Until that day, I will quell my hunger with Lannisters."

Sansa scowled, "Perhaps you haven't heard us. They are off limits. Find another hobby."

Oberyn shook his head, about to retort when Petyr’s smooth voice cut through their squabbling. “Oberyn’s the fastest quick-draw I’ve ever met.”

Both Oberyn and Sansa turned to Petyr. Oberyn wore a smug smile as he waited to hear what Petyr would compliment about him next, while Sansa waited, confused as to what he was getting at. When Petyr was satisfied that he’d gotten their attention he continued, “So one would think that he of all people would understand the importance of making everyone watch the hand that does not work.”

Oberyn inhaled, glancing between the two of them as he said, “I do.” He blew out a breath that spread into a boyish grin. “You cannot fault me for wanting some assurance that your thirst for Lannister blood has not waned in the midst of your reconciliation.”

“Believe me, it has not.” Petyr moved his hand from her hip to rub her back as he looked up at her. “The image of my wife under fire and my daughter trembling in a pool of blood will be burned into my retinas forever. The Lannisters have committed so many offenses, but it is for that one in particular that I--” He glanced over to Sansa. “ _We_ , will tear them from their bed and bleed out anyone unfortunate enough to share their last name.”

Whoa. Sansa felt her face heat in excitement over the intensity of his words. So much emotion rumbling below Petyr’s cool exterior made her fantasize about sliding from the chair’s arm, to the security of his lap. It would be the best place to mewl naughty nothings in his ear from.

She barely heard Oberyn say, “So glad we agree.”

To keep herself from falling into fantasy, she addressed their ally. “Long after this is over, the Martells and the Baelishes will still be doing business.” She noted his genuine smile at that. “We must not forget that in the wake of war. You are bringing Serum in, and it was the Mormonts that infiltrated the harbor. Just because we needed to make way, does not mean we have forgotten our true enemies.”

Petyr reasoned, “Everyone knows in war, you have to cut off your enemy’s supplies. Us killing Mormonts _is_ killing lannisters. “

A long pregnant silence followed while Oberyn considered their words. Finally, he said, “When this is over, the bargains struck prior _will_ be honored throughout. I stood to make a lot of money on your separation. I won’t be screwed out of it simply you've decided to make up.”

“Of course,” Petyr agreed. She knew he was only doing it to keep Oberyn happy in the moment. When the hostilities came to conclusion, Petyr would renegotiate. It was naive to think he wouldn’t and Oberyn would know that if he wasn’t so blinded by a history that haunted him and his family for years.

Her phone vibrated again as Oberyn was leaving, and she missed whatever salutations were exchanged, leaning over to read, _Super sorry for stealing your bestie. Not._

That wasn’t Cersei’s number.

Sansa glanced over to Petyr, his attention stayed on Oberyn disappearing through the door. She moved to get up from her perch when Petyr gripped her hip. He purred his question through a sinful grin. “Where are you off to?”

“My phone,” she explained.

“Cersei again?” He asked with a distinct note of disinterest--his attention otherwise occupied.

Sansa lifted his chin to meet her gaze. “No.”

His eyes narrowed, “Who?”

She raised the phone for him to read.

To her surprise, he wasn’t. “I was wondering when she would make contact.”

Sansa felt a touch of shame that she hadn’t even considered the prospect of Dany accessing her number, let alone using it. “And did you plan what our response would be?” She asked, more defensively than she would have preferred.

He looked down at her lap and smirked. “You’re sitting entirely too far away.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Her cheeks dimpled despite pursing her lips at him.

Petyr watched his own hand on her hip slide down to cup her ass, fingers wedging between her and the arm beneath them. “No. I can’t say as though I did.”

Another vibration read, _Not answering? That’s cool -- doesn’t fuck me up like it does your BFF.  Girl’s gone trainwreck. I want to take credit for it, but ruining people’s lives is more your bag._

Sansa watched Petyr read the screen. “What should I say?” If it were Cersei she’d know exactly what to say and do. Dany was an entirely different matter, however.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Well, she said it herself. The silent treatment doesn’t work on her like it does Cersei. So, you might as well have at her.” He turned his head and kissed her arm. “Say whatever you want.”

“You don’t mind?” She asked, somewhat doubtful. They had agreed to include each other, and she was making an effort to consult him before she made moves, if for no other reason than that he was too.

“On one condition.” He pulled her into his lap, grinning as he said, “You sit a little closer when you do.”

Both his arms wrapped around her and she felt her heart speed up in the affection of such a gesture. Petyr parted his lips and closed his eyes. Sansa accepted the silent invitation and kissed him, dropping her phone in her lap, leaning further into him. There was touch of discomfort when her breasts pressed against his shoulder and she fought to ignore it, sliding her tongue over his.

He tilted his head and she moved to match him, letting a small sigh escape when she gripped the back of his chair, her wrists resting by his ears. It was his phone that interrupted them that time and he gently tapped her bottom to break their kiss. She pulled back and cocked a brow at him, trying to decide whether or not to be offended. Before she could settle on the feeling, he raised his phone to show her that Stannis was calling. “I should take this,” he grumbled.

“Speaker?” She asked.

“Of course,” he promised, and answered his phone.

“Baelish?” It was Stannis.

Petyr stared at her phone as she typed out, _What do you have against Cersei?_ Rather than comment on it, he replied to Stannis. “Commissioner. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

Stannis’ voice wavered. “I’m asking you to put and end to the hostilities between yourself and the Lannisters.”

Sansa’s phone vibrated and she looked to see that it wasn’t a response from Dany as expected, but a text message from Cersei. She would have normally ignored it, but read it now as it was in her hand. _The Falcon’s Nest, really? I knew you loved me._

“The Falcon’s Nest?” Sansa asked.

“Hello?” Stannis asked.

Petyr sighed and turned his head away, mumbling, “I may have had it shot up a bit.” He shrugged, “A couple of molotovs.”

“What do you mean, _may have?_ ” Sansa exclaimed, scooting further down his lap, to round on him better.

Her phone vibrated in her hand again with Dany’s response, _Not a thing. Just you. She’s easily manipulated and rather close to you._

“Why would she say that so blatantly?” Petyr asked, reading her phone.

Sansa scowled at him. “Don’t change the subject, _Petyr_.”

“Myrcella’s been quite open to discussing the prospect of peace between your families,” Stannis interjected from the speaker phone, too much hope in his voice.

“Kiss me,” Petyr asked, tickling her lips with his.

 _“What?”_ Stannis responded.

Seeing her opportunity, she caught Petyr’s bottom lip between hers and nipped it. “Kisses after explanations.”

“Fine,” he sighed, looking away again. “I lost my temper.”

“And you shot up The Falcon’s Nest?” She eyed him closely, frustration turning her blood to boil.

“Technically, it was a Mormont property at the time,” Petyr defended weakly.

Stannis’ distant voice interjected, “They are willing to forgive that!”

Sansa laughed, “Not likely. They wouldn’t forgive that any more than we would them destroying the Doghouse.”

Petyr glanced away and that was answer enough for her. Her chest ached as she realized, “The Doghouse?”

His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened.

Sansa pressed her palm into his chest. “Were you going to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“If we can come to some sort of peace-treaty now, we can rebuild. Not too much has been lost,” Stannis begged.

Sansa ignored him. “When?”

Petyr looked down at her hand over his heart and covered it with his own. “I hadn’t decided--”

“Baelish?”

Petyr hung up on him and tossed his phone on the desk. Sansa was grateful he had, because if he hadn’t, she was about to herself. He picked at the ring on her finger as he averted his gaze. “I had every intention of telling you. I was just looking for the perfect time.”

“And when would that be?” She asked, softening her voice to encourage his honesty.

“When you were sleeping. In the shower, dancing to loud music, after I’d fucked all the sense from you and you were too lost in your to realize.” He let go of her hand and locked eyes with her.

She stared back at him for a moment, studying the trepidation that plagued him. He was nervous. “That scared of me?”

“No.”

For someone not intimidated, he was definitely acting the part.

“I’m not scared of you, Sansa.” He straightened in his seat, shifting as if to nudge her off of him. When she didn’t budge, he sighed and admitted, “Though you’ve proven yourself to be a formidable enemy, that’s not a strong enough deterrent for honesty." He smiled ruefully. "I can stand your anger, however severe. Negative attention is still attention, and it's the complete and utter absence of your attention altogether is too much to bear.”

Sansa let his words play through her head for a moment before she realized. “You’re worried I’ll leave.”

When he didn’t respond she reached for his hand. “Because you acted without me and we agreed to include each other.”

“Good enough reason for you?” He spat back at her, moving uncomfortably beneath her.

“Why did you do it?” Sansa tightened her grip on his hand, and caught his eye when he glanced at her.

“I told you, I lost my temper,” he growled. “Cersei must have figured what we were up to and went for the Doghouse to get to us--I can’t see the Mormonts doing it.” He pulled his hand from hers. “The Doghouse was special to me and I needed to ruin something special to them too.”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “I believe you.”

“And now you’re leaving, because I broke my promise,” he huffed.

“Am I?” She smiled. “That’s funny, I don’t think my ass has left your lap since you put it there.”

Petyr’s eyes widened at that. “You’re not angry?”

She noted the amazed look on his face, always so ready to assume the worst. “I’m not _impressed_ ,” she corrected and kissed his cheek, hoping it would ease his doubts. “We are not perfect, Petyr. We’re trying though, aren’t we?”

“You’re being surprisingly understanding about this.” He let his hands find her body again, holding her to him.

Sansa glanced down at the arm that covered her thigh and noticed her phone sticking out from under it. Peering at the display screen, she read a series of Dany texts:

_Cersei goes where the blow goes._

_Lucky for me, she hates you as much as I do._

_Enjoy your kids while you still have them. I can’t wait to see the agony on your face when you hold their little lifeless bodies._

_You think you own this city? Look how easily I tipped it on it’s side._

_You gave me all the properties you’re burning. How does it feel to destroy your own empire?_

She hadn’t noticed how many times it went off in her lap as she and Petyr talked. His muscles tensed beneath her and she knew he was reading too. “I gave you up once, and I don’t ever want to do it again,” she said, drawing his attention back to her. Screw Dany for intruding upon their intimacy. “You’re worth a little understanding.”

His eyes clouded as he mentally shifted gears and found the thread of their conversation. She tapped her thumb across the keyboard quickly without looking and then dropped her cell on the desk.

“What did you tell her?”

Sansa brought her hands back to his chest and tickled his lips with hers. “That I can’t wait to watch Cersei chop off her tits once I send her a screenshot of these texts.”

“So smart, my wife. So _vicious_ ,” he admired, the start of a chuckle was quickly cut off by her kiss. Immediately adapting to her affection, Petyr matched her vigor. He tasted of mint and his own unique flavor, and she wanted more. Sansa twisted in his lap, cursing her legs for suddenly feeling so long and cumbersome. Her short skirt kept her thighs shut tight against the urge to part.

Petyr’s hands grew more insistent as they slid over her, catching on each natural bend and dip to give an appreciative squeeze. He broke from her lips to tickle her neck with his goatee, nipping at her collar bone. Sansa sighed in pleasure as she felt him lick and kiss the base of her throat. The same nomadic hands that had been wandering her body, slid over her ribcage to cover her breasts.

Pain shot through her and she hissed at the discomfort, pulling back from him suddenly. Sansa hadn’t realized how engorged her breasts had become. How long had it been since she fed Durran? For that matter, how long had it been since he’d actually finished a feeding?

“Sansa? Are you alright?”

More than a little embarrassed, she forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his expression wrought with concern.

“I’m fine, Petyr,” she lied. What mother would be fine with failing her son?

He squinted his eyes at her. “You’re not.”

“Kiss me?” She smiled and leaned forward, her lips working to distract him from the worry that threatened to kill the mood between them.

He returned her kiss despite whatever reservations he had and it wasn’t long at all before the mounting heat of their sex helped her forget the heavy, imposing weight of her breasts. She promised herself that she would pump as soon as they were done, and then she wouldn’t have to admit her failure as a mother to Petyr. She knew he wouldn’t say anything, so determined to the be a supportive husband. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t think it. How could he not? She sure as hell was.

Petyr told her that Durran could sense her anxiety, and she hated herself for being so reactive to the danger that surrounded them. It was easy to act cold and unfeeling on the outside because she could pick and choose her words and actions. She couldn’t stop the thoughts and feelings that riddled her insides with worry, despite how well she thought she was hiding her panic. It obviously wasn’t well enough if Durran somehow sensed it and was starving for it.

 _Stop it_ , she scolded herself for being so dramatic.

Durran was no hungrier now than he was when he lived on her milk. What he lacked from her, he gained in solids and supplemented formula, which had done Elenei just fine. So lost in her own insecure rationalizations, Sansa hadn’t noticed Petyr find her breasts again until the painful press startled her as it had before. Determined to carry on, she tilted her head and deepened their kiss, covering his hands with hers and moving them down to grip her ass.

Again, she promised herself that she would pump as soon as they were done. She may have been a terrible mother, though that didn’t mean she couldn’t still be a good wife. Her son may not have wanted her, but she would make damned sure that her husband did.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice broke her from her thoughts and she opened her eyes. “What?”

“Sansa, you’re a thousand miles away,” Petyr accused.

She pulled her hair behind her ears. “No I’m not.”

He brought his hand to her cheek and ran his thumb over her lip. “I know when my wife is enjoying herself.” He paused, looking her in the eye as he added, “And when she isn’t.”

Damn it.

Guilt forced her to avert her gaze. “I was,” she quietly argued. She truly was--when she wasn’t hurting and feeling worthless. None of that was his fault, though, which was why she was trying so hard to keep going.

He kept a hold of her face and brought his free hand back to her breast. Just the weight of it resting there was uncomfortable, but she was able to keep that fact hidden. The mossy green pools of his eyes held a greyer hue to them as he gently tightened his grip. Tension rippled through her body fighting the urge to outright cringe. He let go and whispered, “ _Liar_.”

Sansa turned her head out of his grasp. “I’m fine.”

“I take it Durran didn’t feed.” It wasn’t a question, but an observation. One laced with sympathy.

She hated that. Fuck sympathy. Like she didn’t already feel like a shitty person for it, now she would suffer the burden of his pity too? Sansa dropped her hand to his crotch and gave the bulge a squeeze meant to deliver them both from such depression. “ _I_ haven’t been fed yet,” she said, giving him a wink. “How about if I suck you off?”

He trained his gaze on her as he removed her hand from his groin. “No.”

And now she was being rejected by her husband too.

Sansa gaped at him. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to put a bandaid on the problem,” he explained, keeping her from rising out of his lap. Petyr was always just that little bit stronger than she.

“A bandaid?” Her curiosity stifled her struggle.

“Yes,” His solemn gaze swept over her, landing on the chest that strained against the button-up blouse she wore. “You could get on your knees right now and swallow every drop of cum I have to give, but that won’t solve anything.”

“Pumping will.” She watched his thumb and index finger pick at the buttons by her navel. Damn him for not just taking the blow job. “If you want my tits so bad, let me go pump real quick, and we can pick up where we left off.”

“No.”

“No?”

His fingers picked at the next button up. “You’re embarrassed.”

Mortified, more like. Squirming in his lap, she wanted nothing more than to flee. It was hard enough admitting her feelings to herself, let alone having to speak them aloud to him. He had chosen her to mother his children, and she was letting him down with her inability to provide for their baby.

His voice filled her ears as she watched his fingers find the button that rest over her breast, the material stretched under the tight fit. “There is no pleasure in knowing you’re suffering this way.”

“ _Suffering?_ You’re exaggerating. I’m fine,” she scoffed, trying to hide the hitch in her breath as he played with that particular button more so than he had the ones below.

It popped as his thumb nudged it through it’s hole, and she felt air tickle further down her chest. “ _Let me help you_ ,” he breathed, his quiet plea so sensual.

Her chest grew against her will, puffing itself up against the opening in her shirt. His face was mere inches from her chest, and his lips somehow closer still. She knew how good it felt when Petyr took her nipples in his mouth and was all too eager to accept his offer of assistance. As she leaned in a little--not yet far enough to close the gap, Sansa felt the full weight of her breasts, and the pressure that built in them.

Suddenly self-conscious, she didn’t feel as though there was anything sexy about them at all, and started to consider just what his ‘helping’ her would look like. She leaned back in his lap, her face screwing in disgust as she said, “I’m not nursing a grown man.”

Petyr blinked, slowly coming to from the spell her breasts had him under. He eyed her for a moment, taking in her words and expression before he sighed. “Do you think you married a boy?”

“Of course not.” Sansa wondered why he would ask that.  

He wrapped his arm over her thighs and tugged her closer to him as he said, “Then you know you married a _man_.”

The erection that pressed against her was proof enough of that. He brought his hand back to the buttons of her shirt as he spoke. “When a _man_ asks a woman to marry him, he understands the privilege and responsibility involved.” Another button popped open and Sansa was surprised by how much she was allowing. “Having you to hold in my arms is my privilege, and it's my responsibility to leave you wanting for nothing.”

His fingertip traced the edge of lace that decorated the top of her breast. “Let me provide for you?”

“Petyr…”

He tugged the material down to find a nursing pad adhered to the inside the cup and pulled it out, letting it drop to the floor. His voice was silk as he said, “You shouldn’t hide your need from me.”

She gave a soft uncomfortable chuckle. “I wear them so that I don’t ruin shirts when I leak.”

“Ruin them. I don’t care, I’ll buy you more.” His eyes were molten as he covered her nipple through the lace. She hissed at the sensitivity and he let go, rubbing his lips over her as he said, “I want to see.”

Sansa closed her eyes, still recovering from the the sting, and feeling strangely too modest to watch him pull the cup down. Her nipple, damp from his attention and the burden of her milk, hit the open air and Sansa suddenly wanted to hide her face. She looked away as she weakly protested, “It’s not like drinking a glass of milk…”

He smiled at her, seeming to find her discomfort endearing as he said, “I’ve already had a taste of you, Sansa, if that’s what you’re worried about. Your milk is warm and sweet.” Then he didn’t wait a second longer before he licked a circle around her nipple, her fluttering shut at the sensation.

Where one hand cupped and lifted her breast, relieving her of its heavy weight, his other moved on her thigh. More than simply securing her in place, he sought the hem of her short skirt, sliding under it. Sansa held her breath as his tongue retracted and his mouth covered her nipple. Her shoulders tensed at the immediate discomfort, distracted only slightly by his hand massaging bare flesh under her skirt.

Petyr sucked as he would usually, and though she knew he was receiving some of her milk, it wasn’t relieving the pressure and pain she felt. She was about to pull back and tell him that she appreciated his attempt, when his mouth widened. Taking more of her breast, Petyr latched onto her more securely. She gasped at the sensation, startled by how completely he captured her. His grey-green eyes looked up at her sharply, as if he somehow knew that she had been about to give up and he was telling her not to dare.

Sansa braced herself on the back of his chair and watched him hold her by hand and mouth. The little voice in the back of her head that told her this was wrong got fainter with each passing second. Satisfied that she would no longer stir from him, Petyr closed his eyes and rubbed her thigh as he set about easing the ache in her breast. The brush of his goatee and the shift of his jaw, swallowing her down, gave her goosebumps. Her legs reflexively squeezed together in his lap.

Too enthralled, Petyr’s eyes stayed closed to the movement. Sansa was rather unnerved by her increasing arousal and tried to ignore his persistent erection. Finally feeling some much needed relief, Sansa let her own eyes close and slid her hand from the back of Petyr’s chair to his shoulder. He was so warm and strong under her hand, so stable. She wanted more of him, wanted to feel closer, so she slid her arm around his neck and cradled his head in the crook of her elbow. When she opened her eyes, his remained closed and she noticed how at peace he looked. Gone was the worry wrinkle from his brow, the appraising squint of his eye, the smug smile that shielding him from others.

There were no tell-tale signs of age and experience, of hardship and heartache. She ran her fingers over his face, tracing first his eyebrow, then his nose, astonished by the expression of sheer bliss he wore. It was as if nothing bad had ever happened to him, not their treacherous separation, not the years he worked to become Littlefinger, or the entire childhood he was denied. For a hardened criminal, Petyr suddenly looked so innocent in her arms.

Feeling him swallow against her again, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at doing this for him. Where her body had failed him many times before, it was not disappointing now. Petyr always said he needed her and she believed him because she’d seen how crazy he became without her. Taking him to her breast, however, drove that reality home. It was while her finger was tracing his cheekbone that she thought, _I love you so much._

She hadn’t realized that she’d said it aloud until his eyes snapped open and he released her nipple. Sansa stared into the glittering black orbs and tensed. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I know it’s probably too soon, and I didn’t mean to-”

He lunged forward, the hand on her thigh clamping down to stop her from falling back. His lips were hot and wet and loaded with connotation. She struggled to keep up with the passion he poured into her, twisting and tilting to accept him at every point. Petyr ripped his mouth from hers suddenly, both of them gasping to catch their breath as they stared into each other’s eyes. His fist curled in the hair at the back of her head, holding her in place, as if she could bear to be anywhere else at that moment. Unsure of his next move, she slid her palms on his chest and leaned in, gently resisting the pull of her scalp to be closer to him. Petyr blinked and pulled her toward him, smashing the side of his face against hers. His goatee scratched her jaw, and her cheek bone hurt with how hard he was mashing his own into it. Soft words were a tickle in her ear as he continued to nuzzle. “I love you _too_.”

As soon as her mind translated his words from hot whisper to heartwarming validation, a primal urge to take and have him raged through her. She wanted to feel closer to him, _needed_ to get closer. The excitement that started as a low stir in her belly, fluttered down to the panties that stuck to her. She slid a hand up to the back of his head, letting her fingers thread into his hair as she rammed her face back against his and confessed, “I need you, _now_.”

Her meaning wasn’t missed. Petyr turned his head and caught a mouthful of her neck in his teeth, nipping and sucking as he reached down to pull her skirt up. Sansa shivered at the drag of his tongue over the teeth marks of his bite, her hands trembling as she reached for his belt buckle, squirming on his lap to spread her legs.

A couple of frustrated seconds passed, both of them working and groaning to free her of the confining skirt. She was about to pull the knife out of his pocket, when her fingers brushed over the soft velvety flesh of his shaft and she grinned over the victory of holding him in her palm. He uttered a strained sound of pleasure, his head flying back against his chair, hips pistoning up into her grip. Sansa leaned forward and kissed the side of his mouth, proud to see her touch having such an affect.

He pursed his lips and fought the force of gravity, suddenly so strong, to pull his head up. A new determination set in his eyes and his hands flew to her back, gripping the top of her skirt and feeling for the zipper. Sansa felt the skirt loosen around her waist and the tight black material hike up over her hips. She wasted no time getting up to straddle him, forgetting entirely about the panties that served as a weak barrier between them.

Sansa gripped him and shimmied closer, eager to hold him inside herself. His hand flew to her mound, driving his palm into the damp material, sending desperate lust rolling through her. “ _Pee_ -”

His name died in her mouth when she felt a gust of cold air hit, and looked down to see he’d pulled the crotch of her panties to the side. He leered down at her, licking his lips hungrily. The hesitation was killing her and she gave his cock a squeeze before rocking her hips towards him in invitation.

He held her gaze as he pressed himself against her wet seam, letting the underside of his erection tease her nub and make every muscle in her body tense with anticipation. “Say it again.”

She bit her lip and braced herself on his shoulders, the incessant pulse between her legs more and more frantic to be tamed. Petyr’s hand moved under her, positioning himself at her opening, his breath warm against her lips. “ _Please._ ”

“I love-” Her voice caught as he drove himself up into her, words broken under the power of their mutual moan. “Oh god!” She cried, lifting her hips only to drop them again. “ _You_ . _Fuck. Petyr._ ”

“Mm, Sansa,” he groaned when she dropped down on him again. “I love you too. So _goddamned_ much.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed, picking up speed.

His hands came around to her ass, cupping and kneading her exposed flesh. He pressed her down on him, slowing her to set a rhythm. “Like that,” he breathed.

“ _Yeah?_ ” she whimpered, searching for an edge to fall off of.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You’re such a good girl.”

So focused on keeping the pace and relishing the praise, her eyes shut and she didn’t see his hand come back around. The rough rip of the nursing pad being yanked from her bra made her shoot him a quick look, too stimulated to fully feel the discomfort from it. She’d forgotten about that breast, still so full and needing release. Milk glistened on the tip of her nipple and Petyr leaned forward, cleaning her with his tongue. “Petyr-”

“Shh,” he scolded and brought both hands back to her ass, holding her to their cadence. “Let me take care of you,” he spoke into her breast, so tender. Gripping her panties, he balled them in his fist, encouraging her motion. “Ride my dick--just like that.”

Frissons of excitement exploded in her belly at his sinful instruction and she hugged him tightly inside to ease her need. Too distracted to protest when his mouth covered her nipple again, pain suddenly gripped her and she hissed, “Ahh! _Fuck!”_ Obviously having learned from her other breast, Petyr didn’t waste any time being delicate, instead taking as much of her in as he could, sucking hard and fast.

The painful pinch eased by the time his jaw moved against her to swallow, gently nudging her hips into motion again. Sansa started slow at first, not wanting to go too fast to break his suction. Seeming not to notice her dilemma, he moaned contentedly into her breast. She slid her arm around his neck again, holding him to her as she rocked lazily, wanting to nurture the serenity he seemed to be experiencing. The dull throb she’d come to ignore in her breast started to subside and she ran her fingers gratefully through his hair for it.

Sansa kissed the top of his head and sighed happily with each rhythmic caress of their bodies. It was only when he pulled his mouth from her nipple in search of her lips, that she realized he’d drained her dry and the urge to return the favor grew stronger. He supported her renewed vigor, forcing her hips down harder, quick to lift her back up to do it all over again. She tore her lips from his, panting and moaning. Sweat dripped from his brow and she knew her own hair was a matted mess. Before she could care too much about it, his grip tightened and he begged, “ _Come for me_.”

All too ready to please, she dropped one hand down between them, slipping past her folds to glide over her nub. Circles turned to frenzied back-and-forths, her teeth first clenched shut and then flew open to cry out. Rogue tears wet her eyelashes while Petyr kissed everywhere his mouth would reach, euphoria wracking her.

He couldn’t hold back long before he lost control of himself, thrusting deeper into her trembling body. She braced herself on both his shoulder and the back of his chair, holding onto whatever she could, allowing him to manipulate her to his need. Sansa had just come back down to Earth when Petyr stilled, coating her insides with each dogged pulse. He had held his breath through his silent orgasm and she rubbed his chest, coaxing him to breathe. Petyr nodded, smiling as he coughed a slight chuckle and let his head fall back.

Sansa used her new vantage point to survey their rumpled state. Her breasts hung naked in her periphery and she blushed at the memory of him latched onto her, gulping her down. Her stomach lurched a little in shame as she shook her head. “What did we just do?”

His head lifted to look at her, his eyes narrowing as he answered, “Absolutely nothing wrong.”

Sansa kept her head down, avoiding his gaze while she tucked her breasts back into her bra. His hand caught her arm, forcing her to glance up. “Sansa, we took care of each other.” He reached for her cheek. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

She would have wondered what he meant when he said that they had helped each other if she hadn’t been there to experience and see it with her own eyes. Wrapped in her arms and attached to her breast, Petyr finally felt safe enough to shed his outer shell. “No,” she agreed and turned her face in his hand to kiss his palm. “There isn’t.”

“DAD-DEE!” Elenei was little, though her voice was anything but, bellowing down the hall.

_Fuck!_

Sansa’s hands flew to her shirt, buttoning it up as she slid from Petyr’s lap. He sat bolt upright, tucking himself back in his pants while Sansa shimmied her skirt down, her underwear still uncomfortably pulled to the side. They were shifting back into place on their own at the speed of snail.

She heard Petyr’s zipper zip a fraction of a second before she heard, “Oh! Mum. You’re here.”

Petyr grabbed Sansa by the hips and spun her around to face their four year old. Sansa blinked uncomfortably, feeling him rise behind her. “Yes, I am!” She spoke loud over the sound of his belt buckling.

“It’s time!” Elenei exclaimed, black pigtails bouncing.

“Time for what, Princess?” Petyr asked from over Sansa’s shoulder. She was about to take a step away from him, when he caught her by the waistband of her skirt. Stilling instantly, she didn’t look at him to question, but waited for some indication of why he needed her to stand there.

Elenei skipped forward into the room. “For my show!”

“Show?” Sansa raised an eyebrow at her in exaggerated curiosity.

“Yes! Dancing and a stage and a pretty dress!” Elenei gushed.

Petyr’s fingers pressed into the back of her, fiddling with the zipper of her skirt. Once he pulled it up, he kissed the back of her head and stepped out from behind her. “I didn’t think you liked pretty dresses?”

“Yes, I do! For a show!” She looked appalled that he might suggest otherwise.

“When is this show? And more importantly, how do you know?” Sansa asked suspiciously. Elenei had been taken out of dance class. How could she know when they were having recitals?

Elenei grinned proudly. “From the paper on the fridge.”

“Nice try,” Sansa laughed. “You know we don’t keep things on the fridge. Daddy says it’s messy.”

“Not messy,” Petyr corrected. “Cluttered. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, so you don’t mind if I put things on the fridge then?” Sansa teased.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d rather you not.”

“See, sweetheart? Daddy doesn’t allow stuff on the fridge. So, where did you hear about a concert?”

“I did see it on the fridge!” Elenei insisted, her voice wavering from frustration.

“Elenei-”

“Actually,” Petyr interrupted, giving her a sheepish grin. “I did leave a flyer from her dance studio on the fridge back when I signed her up.”

“Did you, now?” Sansa turned on him, trying to hide the barest hint of a smile. “What would make you do that?”

Making no attempt to find an excuse, Petyr confessed, “I thought if I had the flyer up at home, she would be excited about it and you’d have to take her to the classes I signed her up for, whether you wanted to or not. I’d of course be there, and you’d have to sit through the whole class in the same room as me.”

Sansa gaped at him, dimples flaring in her cheeks. “Why, _Mr. Baelish_ , you are shameless.”

“Can we go?” Elenei bounced impatiently between them.

“Princess-” Petyr started and then stopped.

Sansa shook her head. “Oh, no. You made your bed, time to lay in it.”

Completely missing the metaphor, Elenei looked confused. “It’s not bedtime. Why does Daddy have to go to bed?”

“It was your idea to sign her up to get at me. Now you need to follow through,” Sansa said, amusement in her eyes.

Petyr’s face would be unreadable to anyone else, but Sansa knew he was feeling caught. Elenei’s sing-song voice decided what color dress she would wear and which dance moves she would use. She turned quickly and wrapped her arms around Petyr’s waist, hugging him closer to her. “Thank you, Daddy!”

Sansa stifled a chuckle at Petyr’s martyred expression. “We don’t know how safe it is, and he didn’t say yes, Elenei,” she reminded her.

“And how could I possibly say no now?” Looking completely defeated, he sighed. “When is it?”

“Uncle Jon says it’s in two days!” Elenei squealed, hugging Petyr anew. “He read the paper to me when I brought it to him in bed.”

Sansa swallowed back the lump in her throat that resulted from any mention of her cousin. Not three days prior she was knelt over him on her kitchen table, pressing the blood back into his broken body, much like she had over a decade prior. It terrified her now as it had then, and the only thing that soothed her worry was having him recuperate under her roof. She tried to let him rest as much as possible, but Elenei was determined to visit him every hour on the hour.

“Two days,” Petyr repeated and Sansa could see the wheels in his head turning. “Alright, princess, but you better start practicing.”

A pair of giant grey-blue eyes bobbed up and down. “I will!” Petyr gave her another hug and she pulled back to ask, “Did Mummy like her present?”

Present? That got Sansa’s attention. Petyr grinned and said, “I haven’t shown her yet.”

She frowned at that and turned to Sansa. “It’s a car.”

“Elenei Baelish!” Petyr scolded. “What do we say about secrets?”

She gave a small pout and grumbled, “Secrets make you money.”

“What else?” Sansa asked, trying not to think too much about the fact that Petyr was randomly gifting her a car.

“Secrets keep you alive.”

“That’s right.” Petyr ran his hand over her head. “Secrets are very important.”

Elenei looked down at her shoes. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Apology accepted.” Petyr pat her back a couple of times in affirmation and then turned back towards his desk to answer his phone. Sansa turned to Elenei, ignoring Petyr talking in the background to ask, “Shall we go check on Uncle Jon?”

Elenei nodded and whispered, “Sorry, Mum. About your surprise.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Sometimes we make mistakes when we’re excited. We just need to be careful and try hard not to.” Ruining a surprise gift wasn’t the end of the world, but what if she accidentally shared something that mattered? Everyone was laying low. Rickon and Arya were out of town, much to Arya’s daily diatribe of disdain. Bran listened for once and stayed put, though Sansa wondered how much of that was only due to his slow adjustment to life-long paralysis. Everyone appeared safe for the time being, but that didn’t mean that a slip up at the wrong time couldn’t or wouldn’t threaten that.

“Sansa,” Petyr called out, stopping her from leaving.

She bent down to Elenei and smiled. “Daddy needs me right now, can you check on Uncle Jon by yourself?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged and skipped off before Sansa could hug or kiss her.

Turning to face Petyr, Sansa asked, “What is it?”

“It’s the Freys,” he started, walking around his desk. “They’ve broken away from the Lannisters.”

“No,” Sansa doubted. The Freys were probably the most independent of the families under Jaime and Cersei, but they stood the most to gain by remaining aligned with them. Something terrible must have happened for the Freys of all people to turn their backs on the Lannisters. “What happened?”

“We’re still researching,” Petyr admitted, taking her arm and walking her out of his office. “But we’ve confirmed they’ve turned traitor. They allowed the Karstarks to pass over the bridge into southern territory last night for the right price.” They never would have done that before. Petyr was right, Walder Frey himself wouldn’t dare allow them to pass, lest he feel the wrath of Jaime.

For him to allow use of his bridge, to take that chance, the situation had to be pretty severe. It would surely ruin their relationship with the Lannisters for as long as they lived. Sansa was vaguely aware of Petyr leading her down the hall as they discussed what the Frey-loss would mean to Jaime and Cersei and whether or not they were willing to take them in if they begged for a place within the north end of the city.

Freys were stupid, but plenty. The Lannisters were taking quite the hit in losing so many soldiers. Sansa was counting what she knew of their manpower when Petyr stopped her in front of the garage door. She glanced over to him and smiled. “You didn’t have to. I mean, I know we’re hard on SUVs, but still.”

Petyr smirked. “It’s not an SUV, Sansa.”

“It’s not?” Since having the children she felt like she was always either driving or being driven in a big safe family vehicle. Sometimes Petyr would drive her around in one of his sports cars, but she hadn’t had use for one herself in years.

He shook his head and reached for the door in front of her. Sansa watched it slowly swing open, revealing more and more of a black sports car with large grey wolf decals that ran along either side. She glanced back uncertainly at Petyr. It was gaudy and definitely not her style. What was he thinking in getting her this?

“Do you recognize the vehicle?” Petyr asked, slipping his arm around her waist.

She shook her head no and then leaned forward for a closer inspection. “It’s a Camaro. I know that much.”

“It isn’t brand new,” Petyr pulled her closer. “It has one previous owner. Care to guess who we know, that has an affection for Camaros?”

“I can only think of Jaime, because of his gold camaro--and I definitely shot that up,”:Sansa thought aloud.

Petyr kissed her shoulder. “The body work took some time, but I thought it was worth it. The gift has so much more meaning, being the same car they used to pursue you--and _failed_.”

Sansa stared at it, incredulously. She’d never known she wanted it until he gave it to her, and now she was convinced it was perfect. Running her fingertips over the outline of the wolf, she grinned. “I can’t wait to drive it.”

“Soon,” Petyr promised. “Right now, with the current state of things, it would be best if you had a twin driving this vehicle.”

“Twin? Like a stunt double or something?” She asked, curious. Not waiting for him to respond, she thought of Ros and sighed. “No. Not Ros.”

“No,” Petyr agreed. “Not Ros.”

“Then who?”

“Olyvar,” Petyr answered without hesitation.

Sansa laughed. “I know he’s gay, but he’s still male and looks nothing like me. People won’t buy it, seeing him with his adam’s apple and platinum blonde hair.”

“He’ll be a bit obscure behind the windows, and as for his hair--Varys said he always wanted _mermaid_ hair.” Petyr opened the car door so that she could see the fine detail stitched into the upholstery. Silver thread stood out against the black leather, each headrest embroidered with the name, _Baelish._

She got in, appreciating Petyr’s sentiment. Wolves painted the outside of the vehicle, prominent display of recognition for where she came from. It was sweet, but there was more to it, more to her. She was Baelish now, had taken his name as her own and he proudly reminded her of that by saving his mark for the car’s interior.

There wasn’t a mockingbird in sight, however, and it was a symbol he told her was one that they shared. She brought herself back to the conversation while she searched for it. “Varys finally let him get extensions.”

“It was good for business.” Petyr shrugged.

Sansa laughed. “You mean, you told Varys to allow it.”

“It’s only temporary.” Petyr strode around to the other side of the car and got in as her passenger. “Once the Lannisters, the Mormonts, and anyone else who opposes us is extinct, Varys will get his towhead back and you’ll be behind the wheel, reminding the people who it is that runs this city--what family prevailed.”

Sansa glanced up at him from the gear shift and smiled. “It’s a pretty picture.”

“More than that soon enough, my love.” He tapped his phone with a devilish grin. “They are falling apart. The Frey falling from the ranks is huge, not that they were ever that bright…”

“But they at least had the bridge going for them,” Sansa agreed and bent to peer into the console.

“Precisely. Soon the Marbrands will be next, not that they’re very noteworthy. Lefford’s sure to follow, and we all know he’s not a great loss, either. Westerling would have been something back in the day, but they’ve gone bankrupt repeatedly and probably haven’t even paid off the guns they’re carrying. Still, able bodies are nothing to snuff at.” He was speaking to her, but his mind was off in a million different directions.

He was so handsome, sitting there planning for various outcomes, preparing for all of them. She gave his hand a squeeze as she promised, “We’ll get them, Petyr.”

He turned his attention to her and popped a mint in his mouth before speaking with an eerie calm. “Oh, we’ll rip their throats out and step over them when they sink to the ground.”

She’d rarely ever heard him talk like that before, so blunt. Petyr had always been one to imply the worst and flower his language for plausible deniability, even in the most private of moments. To others he was a calm businessman who happened to hold a gun from time to time, but Sansa had stood by his side long enough to feel the aura of menace that surrounded him. She was drawn to it like a moth to flame, bolstering each gratuitous display of power.

Fury bubbled up and grew the grey-green of his eyes until they drown his pupils to pinpricks. Sansa nodded and lifted his hand to kiss it, wondering if the damp between her legs should be more attributed to her body or his. Determined not to get distracted from her search, she let go and pulled the visor down.

“What are you looking for?” He asked, irritation evident in his expression.

“A mockingbird,” she admitted. “It’s our thing…”

It was.

Before she left.

A wave of doubt crashed into her and she chewed the inside of her cheek.“Isn’t it?”

“It is.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Well then, where is it?” Sansa asked impatiently.

Petyr raised his first finger, and pressed it to her chest. “I don’t need to have mockingbirds sewn to everything you own to feel the strength of our relationship.” She frowned a little and he tilted his head to smile warmly at her. “The car is yours, Sansa. You fought and survived, kept our daughter alive through it all.” He ran his fingers over the dashboard for emphasis as he said, “This is all you. When you drive it, you are telling the world what you’ve done, and what you’re capable of. I have you, I do not need to take your victory too.” He reached up towards the rearview mirror and smiled. “This car is a gift, homage to your strength.”

“Petyr.”

She didn’t know what to say. He nodded, somehow knowing, and cracked a playful grin. “Though, if you’re determined to wear a token of my affection, who am I to deny you?” His fingers flicked at something behind the mirror and a necklace dropped down from its hiding place. A diamond encrusted mockingbird pendant dangled from a shiny platinum chain. She watched him take it down and bring it towards her. His words sounded nervous as he said, “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, obviously. I just saw it and thought of you.”

“Liar. You had it made,” she teased. “And it’s beautiful.”

She moved the hair over her shoulder and smiled back at him to dress her with it. He worked the clasp for a second and when she turned back around, he let his eyes fall where the pendant had, admiring its location. “How does it look?” She asked.

“You look perfect.”

She gave a soft chuckle when she realized that wasn’t what she’d asked. Petyr let his chin rest on her shoulder and his hand on her thigh as she turned in her seat and ran her hands appreciatively over the steering wheel. “I want to send Cersei the screenshot,” she said suddenly.

“Is that wise?” Petyr murmured into her shoulder before giving it a quick kiss.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “But you said it yourself, the Lannisters are falling. Tyrion’s gone. The Freys have turned coat. In just three days, most of the Mormont territory has been blown up or shot to hell.”

“And you want to gloat,” Petyr teased.

Sansa huffed. That would have been childish. She couldn’t allow herself to act in such a way at a time like this, though perhaps it didn’t have to be that way. It wasn’t gloating perse to make someone more aware of lower caliber friends. If anything, it was supportive. “I want to inform.”

His hand squeezed her thigh and he asked, “Will you show me?”

“Of course.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. “I love that we share so much.”

Grinning from their kiss, she nodded. “Me too.”

Sansa pulled out her phone before she could get too caught up and sent the screenshot to Cersei without any caption, feeling the texts spoke for themselves.

A vibration sounded through the car, but it was not Sansa’s phone, instead Petyr’s. She glanced at him and he lifted it to show her a picture of Olyvar with long bright red hair. “He wears it well,” she bit back a laugh.

“Not even a little.” Petyr shook his head, not bothering to stifle his own chuckle.

She was just about to tell him to remind Varys that it was only temporary when Cersei responded. _I knew you were taking our breakup hard._

Breakup? Was this some joke to her? Sansa texted back, _This is your friend? A woman who threatens to kill children._

Her phone rang in her lap and she answered it instantly, anxiously awaiting her response to that. She placed the phone on her shoulder between her and Petyr and cranked the volume to max so he could hear. There was a loud exhale and then a cough before Cersei drawled almost apathetically, “Well, Sansa, maybe you shouldn’t murder people’s loved ones. I mean, if you don’t like having your kids threatened. That is.”

“Really? Cause you don’t. You’re so convinced it’s me that killed your kids, but you haven’t threatened mine.” Sansa challenged, feeling frustration take over to ignore Petyr’s raised eyebrows next to her. “Either you’re just classier than your new friend, or it’s because you know it’s all bullshit. Having had a front row seat to your piss-poor sense of style for too damn long, I’m going to go ahead and assume the latter.”

Petyr pursed his lips at the silence that filled the other side of the line. He was right to wonder what Sansa was thinking, poking a lion like that. She didn’t care, a fire lit inside her when she she heard Cersei excuse Dany’s behavior, and blatantly ignore the part where she admitted to manipulating her.

“Oh, nothing to say?” Sansa lifted the phone off their shoulders and brought it around to look at it as she barked into the mouthpiece. “That’s right, you traitorous bitch. Why don’t you go snort your way to a happy life--or at least an easy death.”

Petyr reached for her arm, trying to calm her. It was too late, she was on a roll. “You know, you may have lost your family, but you _threw away_ our friendship. And that was a choice. So, fuck you for that!”

She was about say something else when Petyr reached for her phone. “Sansa. She hung up.”

“She did?” So impassioned by the hard truths she was dropping, she hadn’t realized. “When?”

“A second ago, after you reminded her of her poor choices.”

“Sorry,” she sighed.

He kissed her forehead. “For what?”

Sansa looked away and admitted, “Provoking her.”

She was surprised to hear Petyr laugh beside her. He waited until she looked over before he raised his hand and gestured around the car. “And what do you think this is?”

Her lips spread into a toothy grin.

“The silent treatment you prescribed was perfect for weakening them, but we all knew it would come to a close eventually, and we’re in a good position for it now. Besides, you dominated that conversation and it just may throw her off even more.” He handed her the phone back and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “If anything, I am sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

He looked deeply into her eyes and frowned. “That you lost your friend.”

“Oh, it’s…” A million responses came to mind, all equally tough and laced with bravado. Each one tasted sour on her tongue and she couldn’t force a single one out into voice. Searching for the coldest most detached thing to say, she kept circling on one word and it slipped past her lips before she could stop it. “ _Hard_.”

Not giving her an opportunity to react to her own response, Petyr leaned over the console and wrapped her up in his arms. Tears she didn’t realize she was crying, wet his shoulder and only the scent of his cologne, and the feel of his palm rubbing circles over her back could calm them. His voice was warm and kind as he spoke into the top of her head and promised her that though it was painful, it would pass and that he would be there for her throughout. She sniffed and nodded against him, gripping her new necklace in her fist, already taking comfort from the token. Cersei may have discarded her, but Petyr hadn’t. Even when he couldn’t take her anymore, he still loved her, and she couldn’t have been more thankful for it--for _him_.

  
  
  
  
  



	21. The Face on the Milk Carton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our children are surrounded by people who would defend them with their lives.

Petyr tipped his head to obscure her view from across the room. She was sitting at her vanity, looking more than a little put out as she intermittently applied her mascara and eyed him reproachfully. It would only exacerbate things if Sansa knew he found amusement in her ire, especially when he knew it wasn’t serious and relatively short lived. 

To break the silence, he began, “I understand you’re disappointed-” 

“Oh? You understand that I’m  _ disappointed _ , do you?” Sansa pursed her lips as she twisted the cap back on her makeup and tossed it on the counter before reaching for the lipstick. “I’m so glad.”

Petyr gripped the back of his neck to better hide his smirk. He drew a breath to smooth out the dimples he didn’t dare wear in front of her. “Sansa-” 

“Because why would it matter to me at all to see her-- _ my daughter _ , all dressed up for her recital? I’m only her mother.” She tossed the lipstick down and rose from the vanity, whipping around to face him. “I mean, how ridiculous of me?” 

Seeing his opportunity, he dropped his hands and lifted his head as he stepped towards her. “She wanted it to be a surprise.” 

“I understand that, Petyr.” Sansa strode past him, denying him the luxury of any meaningful eye contact. 

He kept quiet as he watched her spin the lock to the safe in their bedroom. Stacks of cash, an important compact disc from his youth, and trays of jewelry sat in view. Unable to resist the urge to insert his own preference, and hoping a compliment would soothe her, he cleared his throat. “You look divine in the emeralds.” 

“Too gaudy,” she shot back over her shoulder. 

Petyr frowned. “You said you liked that necklace.”

Her hand froze in the safe, hesitating. Even though she would not turn, he could hear her sigh before her voice softened. “I do. It’s just a bit much for a preschool dance recital.” 

“Says who?” He playfully challenged, no longer feeling so offended.

She scoffed into the safe. “Only the world.” 

Rolling his eyes at her because he knew he could get away with it, he asked, “Who cares? We own everyone anyway.” 

“Not quite.” 

He was pleased to see her clutching the emerald encrusted necklace he was referring to when she rose. It wasn’t an especially large triumph, but he would cherish his victories wherever won. He spoke through his proud smirk, “ _ Almost _ .” 

Sansa flashed him a wary look. She was right to feel that way. A lot had happened in just two days. The Mormonts remained to the sidelines. What had started as vengeance from one platinum blonde widow, had turned into an all-out turf war between the Lannisters and Baelishes. The Mormonts stood on borrowed ground and therefore any attempt they made at inclusion, only further diminished their power. They had no families, no overwhelming resources, not even a ship left in the harbor. Dany and her man had only the wavering support of the Lannisters left, and they only survived on tradition and what was left of their standing in the city. Who knew how long they’d have either, as many were jumping ship in the wake of such contention. 

The Freys had--as expected, been in communication. They wanted acceptance into the fold and to show their loyalty, they allowed the Royces and the Manderlys over their bridge to take The Lion’s Den. It was unfortunate that Kevan was there at the time. People could say what they wanted about the Lannisters, but Kevan was a skilled soldier for the family. He killed Manderly’s youngest before escaping the shootout and subsequent fire. 

There was a call for more power after that, from both sides. Just as Jaime wouldn’t handle the taking of his favorite bar well, Manderly was fitful over the loss of his son. The Corbays were only too ready to assist, what with the loss of Lucas in recovering Jon from Myrcella and her sadistic bodyguards. The Freys offered to open their bridge again, but the Lannisters and the Leffords were stupid enough to charge across without permission. 

Not only were they met with some very territorial Reed men letting them know to stay out of their swampland, but also some pretty angry Freys who did not appreciate unauthorized use of their bridge. Oberyn did not miss out on the action, already waiting with the Reeds for them. Petyr felt it was beneficial for the man to kill someone Lannister to sate his bloodthirst--at least to some degree. 

The Lannister force was beaten, but before Kevan could make another escape back over the line, he was detained. He had quite the foul mouth for it too, Petyr noted, stepping out of his car to meet him directly. 

Kevan was all alone, no men to protect him anymore, though if truth be told he was probably more protection to them. They were all so pathetic, the Leffords especially. Reeds, Royces, and Manderlys lined Petyr’s side of the border. Oberyn stalked back and forth like a panther behind Kevan, where the Freys stood--what was left of them, anyway. 

“There’s no need to hold him.” Varys waved Lyn off. “He knows he’s done.” 

Kevan smirked at the youngest Corbray, antagonizing him. “Yeah, Lyn- _ dah _ .”

Lyn scowled at him and Kevan used his physical prowess as well as solid reputation to intimidate. He flexed a little, letting Lyn feel the muscles that rippled beneath his grip. Kevan’s grin grew wider as he teased, “Try not to piss your pants with fear when you do.” 

“You smile a lot for a man so heavily outnumbered,” Oberyn commented from behind. Blood splattered his face and Petyr wondered if he’d used his blade by choice, or it it really was a necessity. Was allowing him a couple cracks that the Lannisters calming his urges or simply keeping him fired up?

“That’s because he knows we kept him alive for a reason.” Petyr stepped forward, carrying all the evidence he’d ever need in his arms. 

“Couldn’t kill me, more like!” Kevan’s laugh may have been arrogant but his eyes gave him away, darting around him searching for weakness. Lyn had jumped back no less than two leg-lengths away. Petyr was sure Kevan could still pounce on him easily at that distance if he decided to. Kevan was smarter than that though. He was not some stupid boy caught for the first time; he understood how things worked. 

Varys grinned and pulled a flask from inside his blazer. “Sure, Kevan.” He extended his flask towards the Lannister. “Why don’t you take this?” His smile grew catlike as he assured him, “You’re going to need it.” 

Kevan scoffed at Varys’ outstretched arm and declined. It was a shame, really. Petyr knew he’d come to regret that. Kevan turned around to watch Oberyn as he paced. “Will you get to the point, Baelish? What message do you want me to bring to Jaime?” 

“Jaime?” Oberyn asked, raising a brow. “I do not think that is who this information is for.” 

That got Kevan’s interest. “It isn’t?”

“Not this time.” Varys took a swig before tucking the flask away. 

Kevan whipped around to glare at Petyr. “Well? What is it then?” 

Being a father now, Petyr felt the smallest pang of remorse for his actions. It easily dissipated at the memory of Lancel’s lecherous hands on Sansa. Petyr’s grip tightened, his knuckles going white thinking of Lancel’s tearful confession to fantasizing Sansa’s beautiful lips around his pathetic cock. He had no right to touch her, let alone dream of her. She was Petyr’s, and the world knew it. Whose ever child he was, he got what he deserved. Seeing no need for any preamble Petyr stated the facts. “The Tyrells didn’t kill Lancel. I did.” He had to bite back the rest, _ In my kitchen. After I forced him to watch Sansa blow me. _

Kevan’s nostrils flared. “You’re lying.”

Rather than argue the point, Petyr peeled back the cloth he’d had everything wrapped up in while it was kept aside from the body so diligently disposed of. The gold Cartier watch glinted in the light of the streetlamps as Petyr handed it over to Varys to pass to Kevan. Petyr watched Kevan look it over, knowing he’d find it familiar. 

Engraved on the inside was,  _ Today you are made. _ It was customary of the Lannisters, an old family rife with tradition to gift their sons with gold watches. They all contained different private messages of meaning, and were given only when they were of age to take active part in their family’s forces. 

Kevan lunged forward, the watch balled in his fist, making it a good four paces forward before he was detained again. A smug smirk found its way back to Petyr’s expression as he watched Oberyn jump on his back, a maniacal grin on his face as he knocked him down to the ground. He fisted Kevan’s hair and forced him to look up as he held a blade under his throat. “Take comfort your son wasn’t raped or his children murdered in the process.” Oberyn drew a drop of blood under his jaw. “Not all of us can same the same for our loved ones.”

Kevan spat out across the gravel, seeming not to feel Oberyn’s venom, so singularly focused on Petyr. “I’ll fucking kill you, you low-life piece of shit!” 

Varys clucked his tongue at him. “Have some respect. That’s Mr. Baelish, you’re talking to.” 

Petyr waved Varys off. It was fun to watch him play with his food, but there was much to be covered. “I’ve kept you alive, Kevan, because I want you to know the whole truth.”

There was a glassy sheen to his eyes as he listened to Petyr. “I wasn’t the only one to sign his death warrant.” Petyr spoke as he pulled more of the material back to reveal a gun. He walked it over to Kevan and set it gently down on the ground inches from his face. To accompany the watch given by the father, Jaime himself was in the habit of gifting each young man with a Lannister issued pistol, a golden lion head stamped on the hilt with the boy-turned-man’s initials below it. Petyr stepped back out of swinging distance and calmly instructed Oberyn. “You may let him up. The gun is obviously unloaded.” 

Oberyn hesitated to rise for only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Petyr to notice. The man was so driven by vengeance that Petyr was starting to question his stability. Kevan snatched up the gun as he rose, turning it over in his hands. “Lancel went missing the night of Joffrey’s bachelor party. Do you really think he could have been taken from Jaime’s high rise without his approval? That it would even be possible...” 

“Bullshit. Jaime loved my son. He’d never harm a hair on his head!” Kevan growled. 

A smirk played across Petyr’s lips, taking sick pleasure in pointing out the stupidity of Kevan’s loyalty. It was time to offer the man a motive. “Lancel’s attention was easily caught by beautiful women, was it not? I know that’s why I killed him. Jaime’s just as protective of his wife, and though she’s not to my tastes, she is quite a looker. Isn’t she?”  

Kevan’s confidence shook, tears flowed freely down his cheeks. To his credit, he remained stoic, not making a sound let alone giving up any information or declaring any change in loyalty. It wasn’t that Petyr had anything in particular against Kevan, so much as he knew breaking him would only further ensure the Lannister fall. 

“ _ Now _ , you may leave,” Petyr tipped his head to him in farewell and turned back for the car. He had to allow the poison of his words to work at whatever rate it took. The dose was deadly enough. Kevan would turn against Jaime eventually. What father wouldn’t? 

Sansa storming by pulled Petyr from his thoughts. His hands shot out, catching her mid-stride. “Petyr,” she sighed as his hold grew more secure, folding her further into his arms. 

He spoke over her shoulder. “Elenei went ahead of us because she wanted the first time you saw her all dressed up, to be under the spotlights.” 

“I know, but still.” Her protest was weaker than before.

Taking pleasure in the way she relaxed in his embrace, Petyr kissed her ear. “Are you worried for her safety?” 

“No. I know she’s with Bronn.” Sansa brought her palm up to rest comfortably on one of the arms locked around her. “I just...I don’t know. I’m her mother. I wanted to help her get ready.” 

Petyr chuckled, squeezing her tighter. “You two are so much alike.” Sansa hated missing out on things as much as Elenei did, and he had suspected she would be a little hurt that Elenei chose her aunt to ready her instead. Bronn still was not in support of Arya returning to the city, especially in her condition, but she would hear none of that once she knew her niece was to be onstage.

They had been to the estate earlier in the day and Elenei rushed off, pulling an extremely pregnant Arya behind her. Sansa naturally attempted to follow, only to be told quite quickly by Elenei that it was a,  _ No Moms Allowed _ affair. The look of rejection on Sansa’s face was quickly masked with a smile towards Bronn as she offered him a drink.

“Oh?” She asked, sinking further back against his chest. 

He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply as he did. Underneath everything, Sansa wore the rain scented lotion she favored, and he’d come to know her by. Over that, she wore one of her more expensive perfumes reserved for special occasions. Unlike the scents she spritzed with when she was purposefully trying to draw his attention, it was not sweet or spicy, but instead clean and sophisticated. She was a proud mother, wanting to present herself well for her daughter. “You both try so hard to impress each other.” 

A soft sound of pleasure passed her lips when he brushed more luscious red locks aside to let his goatee tickle her shoulder. Sansa was the perfect mother, whether she could see it or not. She was extremely protective and engaged to the most vulnerable level. She was destined for motherhood, there was no use in her doubting herself in it.

Ever since she’d accepted him to her breast, he was astounded by how stunning she looked holding him to her. Her warm face and bright eyes smiling down to him, supported him as much as the arms that cradled him. The light shone around her, giving her an ethereal glow from above as if she were the eternal mother, all there ever was and all there ever would need to be.

Where she was warm and adoring, there was a ferocity to her that made one feel more secure in her arms than out of them. Showered in the jubilation of her love, Petyr simply couldn’t cope and needed to take her how he knew to, from the inside. Be the man to her woman. 

Perfection that she was, Sansa transformed in his arms from the careful nurturer to his needy-greedy mate, everything about her arousing and aroused. Soft became supple, and sweet turned tangy. Soothing fingers in his scalp tightened, clutching and ripping as the sweat they created together stole whatever purity they shared moments prior. The change was so seamless no one would ever have known, not even he, that she were the same woman.

She became what he needed, no questions asked, no hesitation. 

He wanted to reciprocate in some way, and he didn’t have to wonder how. Stifling a deep breath for courage, he let his hand drop down to hers. His thumb brushed over her knuckles before he gently tugged the necklace free from her grip and tossed it on the bed. Petyr took advantage of the position they were in to press another kiss to her shoulder before taking a small step back and pulling the mockingbird necklace he’d recently given her from his pocket. He had known in her heated state that she would overlook it. He raised the necklace up, showing it to her. Sansa’s forehead wrinkled as she gave a subtle nod of acceptance, before she leaned toward him and gave his lips a soft peck. Petyr waited for her to lift her hair out of the way, then brought the necklace around her neck. His voice was low, but determined as he spoke. “That morning, back before we...you said it was  _ a kink _ \--the dominant and the submissive. Is my possessiveness a part of it?”

She stilled, holding her breath to deny even the natural rise and fall of her chest.

“I feel like it might be, and your silence only confirms it.” Petyr stayed the course, working the fish hook clasp. “Tell me about it.”

There was a sudden trill to her voice as she tried to avoid the conversation. “It’s nothing.” She stepped forward quickly, asking over her shoulder, “Did you remember to invite Oberyn when you were inviting the other families?”

Petyr’s eyes tracked her movements, quick and jittery. Her discomfort only interested him more. “Of course. He’s already there waiting for us.” He wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily, “And I’m not so sure that it is nothing.” 

“I just told you it was.” She gave a fake smile and rolled her eyes as she held up two different pairs of earrings. “Which ones?” 

“Those,” he said, pointing to the two carat diamond studs, without ever taking his eyes away from hers. “Are you avoiding this discussion because you’re ashamed?”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. “ _ Ashamed _ ?” Sansa looked as if someone had struck her across the face. “Kinks-- _ sex _ is healthy. I have nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, you’ve only reaffirmed that lesson for me.” 

He knew she was referring to the same encounter he couldn’t get out of his head. It wasn’t as if he understood it either, only that it felt right at the time and he wouldn’t be opposed to having it happen more often if she grew comfortable with it. “Then why won’t you discuss this with me?” Petyr slid his hands in his pockets, hoping it would free her to talk more about what she was so reluctant to. 

Taking an opposite approach, she crossed her arms and glared at him. “Why won’t you let the subject drop?” 

Petyr swallowed. “Because I want to know if it’s something I can give you or not.” 

Sansa shook her head, her arms dropping. “Don’t worry about it, Petyr. It’s fine.” 

“I know,” he said, not because he agreed, but because he knew she wanted it to be fine. “I still want to give you everything, remember?”

She stepped toward him, her expression softening. “Petyr…”

“Please?” He asked as he allowed her to pull his hands from his pockets and hold them in hers. “It’s not as if I don’t know what it is. You’re not revealing anything new, only explaining it so that I understand better.” 

Sansa sighed and looked away. She was clearly struggling, so Petyr decided to rip the bandaid off. “Is it because you feel guilty for enjoying my pain?”

“What?” Her head shot up, brows furrowed in an obvious mixture of anger and curiosity. “Why would you say that?” 

“Lots of people take pleasure in pain, Sansa. I’m not judging you for it. We’ve always dabbled around the edges, enjoying a touch of rough with our sex. We’ve also always kept a good balance between both ends of the spectrum. Perhaps the pain that excites you is more emotional in nature.” He was trying so hard to understand. “Again I won’t blame you for it. We don’t choose what excites us. I just need to know so I can determine how much I can endure.” He caught her chin as she tried to look away. “How much I must.” 

She lifted her head from his grasp, but didn’t attempt to move away. “It’s not like that, Petyr. I don’t enjoy your pain.” 

“Why else would you flirt and tease me with others? You have to know that it upsets me.” His jaw tightened. Now it was he that didn’t know if he was more irritated or confused. 

Sansa sighed and backed away from him. “I don’t like to hurt you, Petyr. I just like…” He waited while she searched for the words. “To ruffle your feathers a bit.”

“What?” 

She groaned and turned away. “It’s kind of like in the movies.” 

“Movies?” It was hard following her thoughts. 

“Yes.” She turned back to him, smiling. “Women love being in love, and if that were it, there would only ever be one movie. But we love the thrill of falling in love even more. Or else there wouldn’t be a whole genre dedicated to it.”

His face fell as he asked, “You need to fall in love with me again?” He hoped not. That would imply she stopped loving him from time to time. If she truly didn’t enjoy hurting him, it certainly seemed to come naturally regardless. 

Sansa shook her head. “No. I’m not explaining it right.”

“Try.”

He hadn’t meant to level her with such a glare when he said it. After everything they’d shared, moments he was sure she felt were as precious as he, finding out that she perhaps needed to work at loving him pierced his heart.

She stepped forward and cupped his face. It was difficult for him not to pull away and demand an immediate answer, but he managed not to, knowing she wouldn’t have bothered with the gesture if she didn’t truly care about him. Sansa brought her other hand to his face, her eyes electric as she stared into his. “It isn’t about love--something I’ve never,  _ ever _ wavered on. Not even in our hardest of times.” 

His shoulders relaxed as relief crashed into him. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. Petyr slid his hands to the small of her back as he accepted her, taking comfort in the feel of her warm and soft against his body. She was his and she’d never not be.

How could he still doubt after everything? His wife was his not only because he made her so but because she proved it time and time again. She was right, even in their ‘hardest of times’ she loved him. It was an obvious thing that never needed to be said, and yet the merest hint otherwise always had him spiralling out of control. Davos attributed that to his upbringing, and while the theory had credibility, Petyr felt that seven years in a loving relationship should have eased that knee-jerk reaction. Davos would have countered that it only amplified it because he now knew what he’d been missing and feared losing it. When things calmed down in the city, he would have to pay Davos another visit, if for no other reason than that he was an interesting man to talk to. It was worth it to put two men on him to ensure his safety through the war. 

“It’s about the thrill.” Her voice was husky against his lips. 

“Thrill?” 

Her hands slid under his arms to rest on the lapels of his blazer. “Uh-huh.” 

He waited for her to explain and when she didn’t, he nipped at her ear. “What thrill?” 

She sighed uncomfortably. “When you’re a little jealous--not  _ seriously _ jealous...Well I guess then too, but that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“Out with it,” he insisted. 

“You…um...” Sansa gave an embarrassed chuckle and averted her gaze. Her voice was suddenly so modest as she admitted, “You fuck me differently.” 

“What do you mean? Like rougher?”

“Not always.” She hesitated. “It’s just  _ different _ .” 

“And you prefer it?” He held her to him as he reached for her chin. Her embarrassment was becoming frustrating. He wanted to look at her, and she kept avoiding his gaze. 

Sansa kissed the hand that guided her back to him. “I didn’t say that. It’s just exciting, you know? How you are, the way you touch me-- _ take _ me.”

“Take you?”

There was color in her cheeks as she explained, and he wasn’t sure if it was still embarrassment or if she was affected at the memory of one such occasion. “I love being yours, but it’s still such a high to  _ become _ yours. You get the slightest bit jealous and you fuck me like you’re stealing me. It’s hot.”

Petyr held her close, letting her words sink in. He rather liked the idea of her being a priceless treasure and he the thief that liberated her from another, to keep safe and sound and all to himself. So caught up in the imagery, he hadn’t immediately noticed his growing arousal, until she confessed in his ear, “We both like it best when we’re  _ criminal _ .”

Fuck. That did it. His hands slid to her hips, fingers digging in as he crushed her pelvis against his and groaned. There was truth to her words, and if this was her motivation for teasing idiot boys at clubs, then it was the best most purest goddamned motivation he could ever imagine. She moaned against his neck, squirming against the tent in his pants. “You feel so good,” she purred into him. 

He wanted to rub himself all over and inside of her, show her just how lawless he could be. He was about to do just that, except that something niggled at him. Petyr closed his eyes and exhaled through his nostrils to calm himself, which was quite difficult once her hand started massaging the bulge of his erection. “Sansa,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s never serious though, right?”

Sensing the change in his tone, she released the button in her teeth and looked up at him. Gone was the lust from her eyes, replaced with a sincerity that could bring a man to his knees. “The only time I ever seriously wanted to hurt you with jealousy was when we were apart. Never before and never since. I promise.” Sansa took a step back as if refraining from touching him would somehow make her testimony more believable.

It was working. 

He watched her resolutely cross her arms, not appreciating the physical distance she put between them, but knowing it was probably best. She swallowed before explaining, “There are times I’m frustrated with you--I think you’re not paying attention to me, or whatever. And I like to give you a little reminder, but that’s all. Just a touch of jealousy so you pay attention and take me like I’ve got ‘FDIC’ tattooed on my ass. But, Petyr, I don’t want to actually hurt you. Not anymore. So, it’s something I can live without.” 

Her smile was rehearsed and he hated it. Who was she trying to convince? Him or herself? Petyr eyed her while he weighed out the risks and benefits of her  _ kink, _ now that he understood it. Sansa liked her games and he liked them too. She also appreciated attention and he had always been one to shower her in it. If this jealousy kink was only that--another game, he could allow it. Slowly, he shook his head. “No.”

So determined to go without for him, Sansa sighed. “Don’t just say that to make me happy. I’ll be fine. I just want you.”

It was a pleasure to hear, but he didn’t enjoy a smile born of practice. He smirked as he assured her, “And you have me. To be honest, I like the idea of stealing you, repeatedly.” 

“Yeah?”

Petyr nodded. “But Sansa, it has to be nobodies, else I’ll think it’s to injure. I have to know it’s a game. If it’s going to work. I can’t ever question. I need to know that whatever you’re doing, you want to come home with me, and me only.” 

“Always,” she promised. 

Needing to have everything explicitly expressed, he asked, “You’ll make it clear to me when you’re purposefully pulling upon my jealousy for sex?”

Sansa flashed him a genuine grin. “I can do that.”

“And if it’s for attention?” He raised a brow. 

The dimples on her cheeks deepened as she answered, “If it’s for attention, sex is sure to follow. So, of course you’ll know.” 

He smirked at that line of reasoning. It was true. Sansa always wanted his attention, but when elevated to a certain amount, it usually lead him between her legs. Thinking of just that particular place, he tested her. “It won’t ruin your sense of enjoyment for me to know?”

Sansa’s smile faded as she gave the question consideration, stepping towards him again. “Will you still get that jealous glimmer in your eye?” She reached for his hand. “Or will you not care once you know there’s no threat?”

Petyr chuckled at that. It was encouraging that she was taking him seriously, but her question seemed so silly considering who she was talking to. He freed his hand to grip hers and bring it to his lips for a kiss. “Sansa, I’m jealous of any man who comes in contact with you, simply because he looked at you. Whether he be a dear friend or twit passing by on the street. Knowing it’s purposeful will only take the edge off enough so I can still function.” In a moment of vulnerability he didn’t intend, Petyr’s voice caught at the memory of their separation. “You have no idea what seeing you with Oberyn did to me.”

Her eyes widened, as she reached for him, cooing, “Oh, Petyr-”

“It’s alright.” He forced a smile. “We’ve moved on from that, haven’t we?” He kissed her hand again to show no love lost. “I’m just telling you Sansa, that for as many things as I’ve become in this life, I’ve always been a thief first. I’ll gladly steal you over and over again.” 

She pulled her hand from his to reach for him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sought his lips again. He was only too happy to oblige, opening for her and holding her close. The erection that had calmed during the course of their discussion, started to awaken. Her hand found the back of his head, encouraging the kisses he trailed down her neck. Petyr breathed her in, his arms tightening around her as he purred, “You smell wonderful.” 

Sansa sighed happily, nudging his head up to find his lips again. Her fingers thread in his hair to pull him back far enough to whisper, “You  _ taste _ wonderful.”

Petyr lunged forward with the sole purpose of kissing her so deeply she lost all reason. He wanted to render her just as helpless for him as he felt for her. Unfortunately, the sound of a throat clearing stilled them both, killing Petyr’s attempt to lure her more primitive side out to play. 

He didn’t have to look up to know it was Brune standing in the doorway. It was time to go; Elenei would be waiting. Petyr touched his finger to Sansa’s chest, tracing the line of cleavage as he promised, “We can finish this in the car.” 

She shook her head and gently removed his hand, explaining as she walked. “No, we can’t. Durran will be with us.”

“He’s a baby,” Petyr reminded her as he followed close behind her. “He won’t understand.” 

Sansa cocked a brow at him and warned, “ _ Petyr. _ ” 

“What?” He asked as they walked to the garage. “He will not comprehend what he’s seeing, which is why I still don’t understand why we’re bringing him to Elenei’s recital.” 

“You don’t want to bring him?” Sansa stopped mid-stride. 

Petyr spoke fast. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want to bring him. He’s my son and I always want to spend time with him. I just don’t see the use in bringing him to watch a show he won’t ever remember later, and can’t understand now.” 

“Stop being so pragmatic,” she scolded and then bent to pick up Durran.

“Mum-mum-ma,” he exclaimed, his little hand reaching for her cheek.

Sansa beamed at him, turning to catch his hand playfully in her mouth. “Tell Daddy you’re going to support your sister. Yes. Tell him.” She teased, bouncing him as she walked toward the garage. 

Durran never took his eyes off of her, his grin larger than life as he replied, “Mum-mum-mum.”

“No, you silly boy,” she teased. “Tell  _ him _ !”

Brune was already at the car, holding the door open. She was sitting Durran in his car seat as he tried to reason with her again. “Sansa, he’s a baby. There isn’t much supporting he can do.” 

“I want them to be close, Petyr.” She leaned in and kissed the top of Durran’s auburn head. “They’re the only other Baelishes in this world. They will need each other.”

Petyr knew she was right, but wasn’t sure that a person could indoctrinate their children to have a close sibling relationship. He wasn’t entirely sure, having never had one himself, but thought that it was something that either happened or didn’t. Still, the fact that she thought so far ahead and wanted that for their children was enough to cease his protests. He simply nodded at her and took her hand in his. 

She gave Durran a brightly colored toy that crinkled even after all of his teething slobber had soaked it and asked Petyr, “Tell me again why this is safe?” 

“You wanted her to go--”

“You did too!” Her head whipped around to eye him indignantly. 

Petyr ignored Brune’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he left the driveway. “I did--I do. I just wanted to remind you that you were in favor of this as well.” 

“In case I’m having second thoughts?” The worried wrinkle in her forehead did not miss his notice. 

“Are you?” 

Sansa gave a nervous chuckle. “It’s a bit late if I am.” She smoothed her hands over her dress, pulling it a little further down her thighs, as she tended to do when she was uncomfortable. “Please. Just tell me again why this is safe.” 

Unable to resist her vulnerability, Petyr leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Our daughter is safe for many reasons. The first of which being, that she is with Arya and Bronn.” 

“Gendry couldn’t make it though, and he is an extra body,” Sansa pointed out. There was a pout to her voice that hinted she hadn’t finished feeling slighted over Elenei’s choice of Arya over her.

Petyr decided to ignore her sour feelings, knowing that as soon as she saw their adorable daughter on stage, proudly clad in her pink tutu, joy would be restored. “Gendry  _ will _ be coming,” he corrected. “Just a little late. He’s on the road trying to make it now.” 

Sansa nodded, a tentative smile on her face. Petyr suspected she prefered Gendry for Arya over Bronn. He thought perhaps it might have been because she thought he was more family-oriented. How someone could think a tattooed, muscled biker who did rough work and practically lived on the road for it was somehow more wholesome for their baby sister, he had no idea. If he had his pick, he would have chosen Bronn for Arya any day simply because the man was the better protector, provider, and though he was not a part of any ruling family, the man had connections. Regardless of his or Sansa’s preferences, Arya was not of a mind to choose, and it didn’t seem she ever would be. 

“Our family expedition is also safe because we are smart and have a strong force, and right now the Lannisters do not. The Mormonts never did, and they’ve only grown weaker under your own order.” He was of course, referring to when Sansa ordered their forces focus on Mormonts instead of Lannisters to better derange Cersei.

Sansa frowned. “We may have destroyed what little they held, but Dany still has influence over Cersei.”

Petyr let his thumb caress the ring he’d placed on her finger years before--the ring she never took off. “People often tire of flies buzzing in their ear. As the Lannisters decline, so too will their patience for such influence.”

Sansa smiled half-heartedly. “You’re right.”

“Daa-daa-dee,” Durran interrupted from his seat, batting his toys away from his face to grab his father’s attention, his eyes glowing bright green with interest. 

Petyr smiled down to him and let him hold his free hand. The pleasure of feeling the affectionate grasp of both his wife and son, filled Petyr’s heart and created a grin he couldn’t control. Durran laughed at Petyr’s expressed mirth and tightened the grip he held as Petyr spoke through his smile. “We are in a very different position, Sansa. We are  _ fortified _ . In addition to Bronn and Arya, and Gendry, Brune is in attendance. As you can see.” 

“Will Oberyn be joining us?”

He knew a strong reaction was unwarranted, but he couldn’t help the natural grimace he had to force back at her even asking. “Yes. Oberyn-” He needed to minimize him, make him somehow less important, so he took the opportunity to remind her of the others showing their support. “Along with all the other loyal families, will be present. Stannis is keeping the roads clear and will notify me of Lannister and Mormont whereabouts.” 

“I wish Jon could come.” She squeezed Petyr’s hand and then let it go to rifle through her purse. 

He watched her push the gun aside, glad to see it there. “As do I.” Jon was still ordered to bedrest, recuperating. Petyr remembered the days he was stuck in bed and didn’t wish that on anyone. “The Lannisters are falling apart. With Tyrion gone, their whole organization is crumbling.” Petyr had been keeping to himself the little tidbit of information Tyrion gave him before committing suicide by Varys’ piano wire. It was his ace in the hole to push Jaime over the edge, and he would use it when most appropriate. “Jaime’s down a hand, literally. Soon enough he’ll be attacked from within, just as soon as Kevan can’t take serving him anymore. And Cersei is-”

“Is Cersei,” Sansa finished quickly, stopping him from offering any criticism of her. He found that a little curious, but knew he probably shouldn’t. She was grieving the loss of her friend, which was hard enough, but more so in a world where friends didn’t exist but she’d somehow managed to make one, and then lose her. Sansa often bore the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he knew this would be no different. Even though she was the injured party, she would no doubt, assume all the blame. 

“So you see?” He continued. “Soon enough, the entirety of the city will be ours. Our children are surrounded by people who would defend them with their lives. They-” 

He was cut off by Sansa’s sudden kiss, urgently exploring the depths of his mouth and his reserve. Petyr broke free to ask what prompted her ardor, only to hear her whisper, “So strong. So smart. So…” 

Petyr felt the world spin as she unbuckled from her seat and slid into his lap. He barely had the opportunity to comprehend the new position before she was running her teeth behind his ears. Her voice broke as she insisted, “ _ Mine _ .”

The word was a trigger, pulled more than squeezed. His hands flew to her ass, rubbing hot little circles into the rounded cheeks beneath the tight black material. “ _ Yess _ ,” he hissed as she devoured the lobe of his ear. It was silly and strange to get so worked up over such typical foreplay, but where Sansa was concerned, he was willing.

She rocked in his lap, her tongue fighting the barrier of his collar. Durran’s sudden squawk of protest over being ignored stilled her in his grasp and she lifted her head suddenly. Her eyes were black orbs glittering in the street lights that passed them by. She looked almost inhuman as she studied him, obviously trying to assess the need that pulled her from desire. He could see her calculating the risk, deciding whether or not to ignore the environment for her own needs. 

It was strange. Petyr often considered his life in the shadows, body pulled by the strings of performance, smiling for whatever audience offered the most allowance. His mind and his heart, however, always dwelled down in the dark depths where no sane person would dare follow. Before he could give it much more consideration, the car came to a stop and Brune exited, all too ready to chauffer them out of the car. Petyr suspected it would be difficult for anyone to drive them around knowing a woman as delicious as Sansa was perpetually just an impulse away from pulling her top down and fucking all the reason from Petyr. He gave her ass a little squeeze before sliding his hands over her hips and up to her back. 

Durran screeched behind them. Sansa closed her eyes and sighed before she slinked back out of Petyr’s lap and cooed to their son. “Yes, I know. I’m coming.” 

Petyr adjusted his pants, tucking the semi-erection back and reminding himself that his focus needed to shift to his children in that moment. Easier said than done. Sansa lifted Durran out of his seat and snuggled him close to her. “I know, my little man. It’s so hard, isn’t it? Being a baby. Such tough work to grow and grow and not be able to tell anyone about it.” 

The door opened and Petyr gestured for Sansa to go first, being the gentleman. As she scooted out, he leaned over quickly and pressed a kiss to Durran’s forehead bobbing over her shoulder. One might think it was a red carpet event rather than a children’s dance recital, for the attention they were receiving. Lesser family members stood outside, smiling and offering accolades as they walked towards the entrance. He could tell by the way Sansa clutched Durran close to her breast, tucking his head under her chin, that she was uncomfortable with the exposure. Who could blame her? They were royalty, on full display with no more shield than Brune could muster. Like the queen she was, her smile concealed her concern. 

His hand shot out to the small of her back, offering her some silent comfort. She paused mid-stride to turn and flash the crowd a grin. After a second, she turned to the other side and showed them an identical smile. Petyr gave them a wink and a wave with his free hand, knowing the importance of playing to the crowd. Her steps were tempered, hips swaying to and fro beneath his hand until they reached the door. Petyr paused, allowing Brune to open it for them and then nudged her forward. 

The auditorium was packed. Wall to wall family members, even the Manderlys and Corbrays, still grieving their losses. Petyr’s phone vibrated in his pocket and when he pulled it out, giving it a quick glance, he couldn’t hold back his amusement. Sansa whirled on him as she walked. “What is it?” 

“Varys is going to be less than pleased once he sees what Olyvar posted on social media,” Petyr explained and then held up the phone for Sansa to see. 

She didn’t seem affected by the photo of Olyvar with his long bright red ‘mermaid hair’ and a little fish pout on his face. The caption read,  _ Aww Boo-boo doesn’t approve!  _ The next picture, however, was of Olyvar’s head in a lap--with a mouth full of dick. Sansa’s eyebrow raised as she read the caption,  _ Good thing I can change his mind _ . Petyr swiped to the third and final picture in the series. It was an upward view of Varys’ face, twisted in orgasm. The caption read,  _ I think he likes my hair now! _

Sansa coughed a laugh and allowed Petyr to escort her into their reserved front row seats. “He’ll kill him.”

Petyr smirked. “Luckily, he’s a bit occupied at the moment.” 

“BJs can be... _ consuming _ ,” she teased. 

“Too right,” Petyr snickered. “However, I meant that he was busy working at the moment.” 

“Working?” She asked. 

“Mm.” Petyr accepted Durran into his arms, allowing the baby to stand on his thighs and look over his shoulder. “Remember? The distraction?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

Olyvar and Varys were driving around the city in Sansa’s new car. If there were any stray Lannister forces lingering about, they would no doubt be drawn to the vehicle like a magnet. Petyr had covered all bases in preparation for his daughter’s debut. 

“Why is the end seat empty?”

Petyr smiled over his shoulder at the crowd, instructing baby Durran to wave at all the faces he saw. “Because, it’s reserved for Meera.” 

Sansa smiled skeptically. “Meera?” 

“Yes.” Petyr turned Durran in his lap to sit and face the empty stage. “Wheelchairs are customarily on the outside of rows, are they not?” 

“You invited Bran?” She asked, excitement growing obvious. 

“Of course,” Petyr replied. Durran exclaimed something unintelligible in the crowd, but was easily assumed to be positive what with his gigantic drooly grin. 

“Your son is quite the little man.” Oberyn’s voice sounded over Petyr’s shoulder. 

It was difficult not to reach for his gun, aim it over his shoulder, and take him out once and for all. Instead of such melodramatics, Petyr maintained his smile, knowing it was losing its authenticity by the second.

Seeming not to notice the sudden spike in Petyr’s jealousy, Sansa turned in her seat and grinned proudly. “He is.” 

Before their conversation could continue, Petyr was glad to see them interrupted by Bran rolling down the aisle, Meera pushing close behind. “Holy shit, Sans! That kid is gigantic! What are you feeding him?” 

“Ha-ha.” 

Petyr watched her roll her eyes at him and handed Durran off to Meera who smiled and reached for him. She planted little kisses on his cheeks and told him how handsome he was. Bran’s voice interrupted again. “When are we getting this show on the road? My wife’s about to leave me for my nephew.” 

Sansa laughed when Meera reached forward and smacked him on the back of the head. “If you keep on like that, I just might.” 

“Then he’d really be a little man. Getting a beauty such as you for himself already at such a young age.” Oberyn’s voice interjected over their shoulders again and Petyr inhaled slowly to keep himself in check.

Bran twisted in his wheelchair and pointed a finger at Durran. “That’s my woman, Buddy. Hands off. I just got her to finally agree to stay put. You’re not stealing her.” 

Meera gave him a wry smile before kissing Durran’s cheek once more and handing him back to Petyr. Sansa had told him that Meera had threatened to leave Bran numerous times since the accident, and that little comment definitely proved it. Meera turned and waved to the other side of the room. “Mom and Dad are here.” 

“Great,” Bran sighed. 

Again, Meera cuffed him on the back of the head. “Be nice.” 

“I am nice. They’re the ones who don’t like me,” he pointed out. 

“And for good reason,” Meera defended. 

“Good reason?” Bran exclaimed. “What good reason? I made an honest woman out of you.” Before she could retort, his hand shot out and rubbed her abdomen. It was a little rounder than Petyr had remembered from the last time he’d seen her. It was like that though, with women. They seemed to sprout their bellies overnight. He’d kept diligent watch over Sansa’s whenever she was pregnant, and her belly seemed to pop within a matter of hours each time.

Meera softened at the gesture and grumbled, “You’re lucky you’re in that wheelchair.” 

“No.  _ You’re  _ lucky I am.” Bran gave her arm a yank and pulled her in his lap before teasing, “You never have to look for a seat for the rest of your life.”

Petyr glanced down at his watch, noting the time. The recital was due to start at six, and yet it was six-o-eight. Sansa glanced over and asked, “What do you think is keeping them?” 

Petyr’s view of the stage was suddenly eclipsed by an enormous belly. “There you are!” The voice was unmistakably Arya. 

Petyr craned his head back to get the full view to confirm his hearing. “Arya.” 

She smiled at him. “Petyr.” 

“We got a seat on the other side,” Bronn explained. He held Arya’s arm with such care, Petyr wondered if he was holding her up. “Didn’t know there’d be a VIP section for a school play.” 

“It’s not a play,” Arya corrected. “It’s a dance recital.” 

“Pardon me for getting it wrong, Punky.” He leaned in and kissed her temple. “Didn’t know it mattered so much, else I might have paid more attention to the little one yammering on.”

Sansa cleared her throat, her smile sad as she said, “Elenei loves talking to people. She’s quite social.” 

Petyr handed Durran to her, hoping that filling her arms with one child might help ease her feelings towards the other. She smiled and bounced Durran in her lap. Not missing a thing, Arya pushed over to the empty chair beside Sansa and said, “I suck at hair. She’s gonna wish she asked you to do her hair once she sees the pictures.” 

“I’m sure you did fine,” Sansa assured her, being every bit the big sister she was. 

Arya nudged her with her elbow. “Still. You know?” 

It was a secret language between sisters that Petyr would never completely understand. From time to time, he felt he got the gist, and always appreciated Arya more because of it. Sansa sighed and answered, “I know.” It sounded strangely like when she was trying to explain her feelings to him earlier. He knew then, but also understood that he didn’t carry the same weight as Arya in some things. 

Petyr watched the crowd around them, growing restless. There was a nervous energy in the air that could have easily been attributed to their presence, but that Petyr felt had to have been more. Bronn hadn’t yet taken his seat beside Arya, keeping an ear and an eye out while the house lights were still up. “Where’s your man Brune?” 

“Outside,” Petyr answered quickly, trying not to feel as on edge as he suddenly he did. “He’ll alert me if anyone arrives that shouldn’t.” 

“What if someone leaves that shouldn’t?” Bronn asked as he glanced back at the stage. 

“What?” Sansa asked. 

Arya was quick to follow. “What are you talking about?” 

“I just heard someone over there say they couldn’t start the show because they couldn’t find one of the kids.” 

Sansa’s eyes shot to Petyr’s at the same time his shot to hers. “Which child?” Petyr asked. 

“No idea.” Bronn took a couple steps back, his head turned to read their lips. “They aren’t saying.” 

Petyr rose from his seat instantly. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Sansa asked, clutching Durran close. 

“What have I missed?” Gendry asked, pulling his leather coat off as he strode down the aisle. “Wow, this place is packed!” 

“Gen.” Arya reached for him. He came to stand in front of her, and let his palm land on her belly as he leaned down and kissed her. “There’s something wrong,” she confessed against his lips. 

Panic slashed his eyes open. “The baby?” 

She shook her head. “No. Bronn said he heard someone say they can’t find a kid.” 

“That’s fucked.” 

“Completely,” Bran agreed. 

Sansa kissed the top of Durran’s head. “Petyr’s checking on it now.” 

“I’ll go with,” Gendry volunteered. 

In truth, Petyr would have rathered Bronn at his side, but the man only worked for two reasons: money and Arya. Gendry on the other hand, was always quickest to offer help. Petyr nodded and walked to the nearest exit with Gendry in tow. Once out of the auditorium, Petyr followed signs up a small set of stairs to the back of the stage. 

“Sir, you can’t-” The woman’s eyes bulged. “Oh…”

She had no doubt recognized him. He didn’t have time to bother with niceties. “Where’s my daughter?” 

“Her name is Elenei,” Gendry explained. “She’s about yay-high. Black hair. Blue eyes. She’s like five now.” 

“Four,” Petyr corrected. 

The woman shook her head nervously and shrugged. 

Useless. 

Petyr stormed past her, barely hearing Gendry behind him. “If you see her, let her know her dad’s looking for her.” 

It was only a couple quick steps to the backstage door. Petyr flung it open and watched as a dozen preschool girls in tutus looked up at him wide-eyed. “Elenei?” He called as his eyes searched each little face. Not recognizing a single one, Petyr felt terror set in as he grabbed the shoulder of the nearest dancer he could see and demanded, “Where’s Elenei? Tell me!”

Gendry took a step forward and apologized for him. “Sorry girls. He’s just very worried about his daughter. If anyone knows where Elenei is, please let us know.” 

One little blonde haired girl took a step forward, fidgeting with her fingers. “Um, Elenei’s Dad?” 

Petyr’s heart was racing in his chest as he looked down at her. “Yes?” 

She blinked up at him. “She left with her aunt and told us we couldn’t tell anyone.”  

“Her aunt?” Gendry asked aloud what Petyr was silently thinking. 

“Why did she leave?” Petyr asked. 

The girl shrugged. “They stopped at her superstar seat before they left.” She raised her hand to point back at the dressing tables. 

Petyr walked toward the dressing room, hoping to catch Elenei asleep at her table or something benign like that. He barely heard Gendry ask, “What did Elenei’s aunt look like?” 

“She was tall.” 

“Tall?” Gendry asked, crouching down to the girl. He touched his hand to his stomach. “Did she have a baby in her belly?” 

_ “No,” _ the little girl giggled, as if the question was completely absurd.  _ “ _ She was very pretty. I hope I look as pretty as her when I grow up. She had hair just like mine too!” 

Petyr stopped in the doorway and glanced back at the girl. A sick sinking feeling set in the pit of his stomach, chilling the blood in his veins. 

No.

Gendry looked up at him, confused. “But Arya-”

Petyr turned away from him, not willing to hear him say anything else. The dressing room was empty, save for little half opened duffle bags and various hair and makeup styling implements strewn about on every available surface.

The air was leaving Petyr’s lungs and he couldn’t seem to catch it back. He pulled at his collar as his eyes searched the room over and over. Gendry walked past him, saying something. Petyr wasn’t sure what, unable to hear anything but the panic that attacked his insides and left his hands trembling. 

“Petyr?”

He glanced over to Gendry, able to understand his own name. Gendry held something in his hand. “Shit, man. I’m sorry.” 

Sorry? 

“What?” 

Gendry held his hand out for Petyr to better see. It was an empty carton of milk, like what Petyr used to get with his public school lunches as a kid. A picture of Elenei smiling back at him was taped to the back of it. Black sharpie scribbled across the top of it read,  _ Missing. _

  
  


  
  



	22. The Calvary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenei’s baby-tooth grin flashed before his eyes, and his heart hurt for it.

The world went out of focus, everything so much less stable, gravity losing its weight. A large dark blur appeared out of the corner of his eye saying something unintelligible. Petyr ignored it, his insides racing in every direction and thrashing against the confines of his body. What had been land was now water and he was fighting to stay afloat. 

There was a heavy clamp on his forearm, and his eyes rolled down, zeroing in on the invasion. It was a large meaty hand with callous-covered knuckles. Petyr’s gaze traveled up the leather jacketed arm and shoulder to the familiar tips of tribal tattoo that trailed up a thick neck and stopped right before Gendry’s square jaw. His eyes were wide as he exclaimed something at him. Petyr focused on his lips, and after Gendry had repeated himself a couple of times, he was able to read the word,  _ Breathe _ .

Petyr gasped for air as soon as he processed the meaning.

“It’s going to be alright, man. We’ll find her,” Gendry promised. 

“ _ Let go, _ ” Petyr snarled, feeling his rage corral the pitpat of his insides. He didn’t need assurances from Gendry Waters of all people. Who was he to speak with such certainty? 

Gendry glanced down at his hand and instantly released his grip. “Sorry, I just didn’t want you to fall over.” 

Rather than dignify that with a response, Petyr pursed his lips and stepped toward the door. He needed to move, and he needed to do so quickly. 

Elenei’s baby-tooth grin flashed before his eyes, and his heart hurt for it. 

Petyr pulled his phone from his pocket, and tapped his contacts. He had to think. What did the little girl say? The abductor was tall and pretty and had hair like hers. The little girl was a blonde. Both Dany and Cersei were blonde, one platinum and the other golden. Fuck. He hadn’t thought of asking to what degree of blonde the ‘aunt’ was. 

There was a soft chuckle from the doorway that sounded oddly feminine. Petyr glanced up to see the dance teacher he’d passed by on his way backstage. It was the same one that had put up minimal resistance in trying to stop him from going backstage. The same one who denied having seen her at all. The same one with the bewildered look of innocence he now knew was staged. She stepped forward, gloating, “You’ll never find your little girl.”

“What the fuck?” Gendry exclaimed.

She held Petyr’s gaze as she pulled a gold chain from her blouse. A lion pendant flashed in the light and she brought it to her lips for a kiss before saying, “The Lannisters value loyalty.” 

One mystery solved.

“You’re fucking sick!” Gendry muckled onto her before Petyr had a chance to move. “She’s a child!” 

Petyr ignored Gendry’s outrage, his own boiling beneath the surface. He inhaled, knowing he had to keep it together. “And what is it that you value?” 

She scrunched her face in confusion and wrestled futilely against Gendry’s strong arms. Petyr stepped forward, reaching in his pocket to switch his phone for his knife. “You see, most people value their lives. _ I _ , on the other hand, value information.” 

Spit splattered across Petyr’s face and dripped down his cheek. “Fuck you! You’re nothing and no one! Just a fucking whore who forgot his place!” 

Petyr closed his eyes and wiped his cheek with his sleeve. She continued her verbal assault. “No one cared when Lysa died and her bitch-boy took the East, and no one cared when the goodie-two-shoes Stark brat took the north. There’s nothing important up this way, anyway.” 

“I’d seriously shut up if I were you,” Gendry warned, tightening his grip. 

“No, no.” Petyr held up his hand, a murderous smile on his face. “It’s good that she’s talking. I’m interested to see what else she decides to share.” 

“You crossed the line, taking Lannister lives!”

Petyr furnished the blade from his pocket. “Where is my daughter?” 

As if she hadn’t heard him at all, she exclaimed, “The city won’t stand for you and your pathetic mutt wife in power!” 

“My daughter?” Petyr repeated. 

Her laugh was forced and uncomfortable, raising in pitch the nearer he came to her. It was the sound of fear and false bravado, and Petyr had time for neither. He gripped the back of her head and tickled her chin with the tip of his blade. “Where did Cersei take her?” 

She pursed her lips and breathed hard through her nose, trembling.

“Just tell him!” Gendry shouted in her ear. The man was no stranger to violence, but had always managed to keep clear of anything so severe. 

Her voice wavered. “It would be an honor to die in service of the Lannisters.”

Too much time had been wasted trying to get the woman to talk. Every millisecond was precious and she’d squandered too many. 

Gendry wasn’t in Petyr’s head, and didn’t know enough to save his reaction. “ _ Honor? _ They  _ stole _ a ki-” His words were cut short in surprise as Petyr rammed the blade under her chin and raked it back against her windpipe before retracting it. Blood sprayed in every direction as she coughed and choked. 

“Oh shit-fuck!” Gendry exclaimed as he let go of her. 

Petyr said nothing as he trudged past the soon-to-be corpse sinking to the floor at Gendry’s feet. Her pale lifeless locks contrasted so severely from Elenei’s raven black hair, still so soft and baby-fine. His jaw clenched at the thought of it matted and sticking to her face from fearful tears. 

He closed and pocketed his blade as he walked, too ready to kill anything in front of him. The sound of heavy boots clomping behind him, confirmed that Gendry was close behind. On any normal night, Petyr would have wondered if he had the presence of mind to at least shut the dressing room door before he followed. 

It was Gendry, so probably not. 

Petyr grabbed his phone again and tapped on Varys’ icon. It rang once and then was sent to voicemail. Fury rose in his chest as he considered that he may have been screened by his right hand man. Not accepting that as a reality, Petyr tapped the icon again. It rang twice before he heard laughing. “Look, whoever you are, I can’t be bothered to look. Please fuck right off for the next twenty--no,  _ forty-five _ minutes. Daddy’s about to give me a spanking for being a naughty boy on the internet today and my prostate hasn’t been milked in  _ too long _ .” 

“ _ Olyvar! _ ” Petyr growled. 

There was an audible gulp and then a skittish response, “Mr. Bae--Petyr?”

“Put Varys on the phone,  _ now _ .”

He listened to the phone shuffle from person to person and then Varys’ humbled response. “Yes Petyr?” 

“They took Elenei.” He could see the audience through the open doorway, and make out Sansa and the rest of their entourage just ahead. 

There was no hesitation, misunderstanding, or question. “I’ll track down both Mormonts and Lannisters. Stand by for locations.” 

Petyr closed his eyes and thanked a god he didn’t believe in. Of course Varys would be just what he needed in such a moment of crisis. As he stepped back out into the open auditorium he steered him in the right direction. “It’s Lannisters. Don’t waste time on Mormonts. Find the Lannisters.” 

“It is done,” Varys promised.

Petyr was pulling the phone from his ear when he heard his right speak to his man, “No, Olly. We’re done with the eight ball for now.” 

On any other night he would have chuckled. Sansa’s stricken expression as he approached robbed him of that. “ _ Petyr _ !” 

Was his panic that readable? She reached out and touched her fingertips to his tie and he would have chopped off his own hand to not have to tell her that their daughter was gone. He glanced down to see the blood splatter stain she was examining.

“Jesus, fuck! Where’s Elenei?” 

When he glanced up at Sansa’s terrified eyes he realized it was Arya that had asked what she was obviously thinking, not her. Petyr closed his hand over Sansa’s wrist and held her palm to his chest. “I will get her back.” 

The verbal acknowledgement that Elenei was enough to send her over the edge. Tears rolled down her eyes as she shook her head. “No. No. There’s been a mistake. You must have missed her in the crowd of girls.” 

He thought about disputing her words, explaining to her just how dire the situation felt, but couldn’t waste another precious moment. Petyr held her gaze as he called out to Bronn, “Come with me--I’ll pay triple the normal rate.” 

Bronn and Arya murmured in the background and Petyr wasn’t entirely sure of the outcome. He was too struck by Sansa to look their way. Her eyes were liquid frost. Such danger churned beneath the surface, and yet they were breathtakingly beautiful. Until the day he’d met Sansa, he’d never known eyes to wield such power. 

They were the same shade of blue as Elenei’s, just sharper. Elenei’s were softer, calmer, warmer--if blue could ever be considered warm. He’d do anything to look into those eyes right then. 

“You need assistance?” Oberyn asked, and Petyr only then remembered that he’d been attending Elenei’s show upon his invitation. 

Time would not stand still for them any longer, and Petyr knew it. His arm shot out and he grabbed the back of Sansa’s head, crashing her lips against his in a kiss for both reassurance and courage. He broke the kiss as quickly as he’d initiated it. “I  _ will _ get her back,” he repeated. He turned to peck a quick kiss to the top of Durran’s head. “Keep him safe.”

Petyr stepped back quickly, not giving her the chance to respond. He turned his focus on Oberyn. “Your assistance is appreciated.”

“Petyr-”

Unable to hear anything she had to say, he whirled away from her. Her horror was too like his own, and if given the chance to join it would build and consume him whole. It took the memory of Elenei’s little hand clasped in his, the last time he truly felt her safe, to force one leg in front of the other past the rows of seats and towards the exit. 

“Stealing children sounds like something only a Lannister would do,” Oberyn spoke in his right ear. 

“Eh, what about that Greyscale chick with lady-wood for Golden Snatch? Seems up her alley too,” Bronn postulated in his left. 

_ “Brune! _ ” Petyr barked as he threw the door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk.  

The man stood at attention, glanced Petyr up and down and immediately turned on his heel and jogged for their car. 

Petyr turned to Oberyn and Bronn. With zero regard to their very public setting, both men were pulling guns from their holsters and preparing them. Where Oberyn was cataloging every magazine on his person, Bronn did so without looking. His voice was gruff as explained, “I’ve only got a couple of pieces on me at the moment, but I have a strong hold with a few stashed a few blocks up.” 

“I too do not have much,” Oberyn admitted. He gave a sad smile. “Silly of me to not anticipate such artillery would be necessary at a children’s function in this city.”

“Get what you need and keep your phones on,” Petyr commanded as the car pulled up. Not waiting for Brune to open the door for him, he gripped the handle and called over his shoulder, “I’ll text you a location as soon as I have it.”

Petyr didn’t wait to watch them disperse to their vehicles, but instead lept into his and slammed the door behind him. He looked down at his phone, willing any sort of contact from Varys, when he remembered Stannis. 

_ Block off the city, no one in or out until my daughter is returned to me. All lions will be killed on sight. No media. No responders. Make it happen. _

He’d just hit send when the car door opened. Petyr’s head shot up to see who would dare intrude. Familiar red hair came into view as the mother of his children sat down beside him and closed the door. 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No, Sansa.  _ Get out, _ ” Petyr growled. 

Ignoring him completely she called to the front seat. “Drive.” 

Brune glanced up at Petyr in the rearview, waiting for his approval. Petyr shook his head and the car stayed put. “I told you that I’d bring our daughter back, and I mean it. Trust me.” 

“It’s not about trust,” Sansa argued as she reached down and felt beneath her seat. “I can’t sit on my hands and wait.  _ I won’t. _ ” 

“ _ God dammit, Sansa! _ ” Petyr roared, his neck straining against his collar. He needed her to stay back, keep Durran safe. He wasn’t sure of anything in this world, except that Sansa was a fierce mother who would protect their young or die trying. Things were about to get ugly and he couldn’t be worrying about Durran’s safety, or if Sansa would get caught in the fray. 

“ _ No! _ ” She barked back, ripping off a panel of upholstery from between her legs. Leaning further down, she used both arms to tug a black box free from beneath the seat. Trembling fingers worked the latches and the glint of silver shown in the car’s light. 

Petyr didn’t have to wonder long what was in the box. Sansa yanked the pistols from the case and smacked fresh clips in them with the heel of her hand. So focused on prepping, she didn’t bother to look at him when her arm shot out towards him, holding a gun handle up. Petyr eyed her carefully, trying to see her through the curtain of hair that concealed her face as she worked on the guns feverishly.

He hadn’t known about the box, though it shouldn’t have surprised him. Sansa was good at concealing things, particularly the things that hurt her. Jaime’s attack had shaken them both and would never be forgotten. Petyr’s lips thinned as his thoughts flashed to his princess huddled on the bloodsoaked floorboards of their car. He blinked back the emotion and stared at the woman beside him. Of course she had weapons planted. His queen would never allow herself to be so vulnerable again, not when it came to their children.

Her voice broke as she spoke down into her lap, “She must be so scared.” 

The image of his daughter holding herself as she shivered in fear stole the last ounce of control he had. The floodgates flew open and he lunged for Sansa, grabbing her. He kissed her through her hair as she cried, their hands tangled trying to clear her tear-streaked face from each blazing red strand. 

The box fell from her thighs when she turned and crawled into his lap, sobbing. Petyr’s arms locked around her, and he buried his face in her neck, feeling his own vision blur. His voice was hoarse as he ordered, “Drive.” 

Brune knew better than to ask where. He would drive because he was told to, even if it was just to circle the block, and he would take them somewhere once given the detail. Petyr dragged his palm over her back in long soothing strokes, feeling her muscles relax. He kissed her ear before he whispered, “What about Durran?” 

“Arya will protect him with her life,” Sansa sniffed. 

There was no denying that. That didn’t mean, however, that she was as capable of protecting him as she might have been in the past. “Arya is almost eight months pregnant.” 

Sansa lifted her head to look him dead in the eye. “And her aim is still on point.”

“ _ And _ neither of us want her in a fist fight, if it came to it,” Petyr insisted. He shuddered to think what Bronn would do if Arya was ever harmed. Aside from that, he liked her more than most Starks and wouldn’t have her suffer any losses she didn’t have to.

Sansa straightened in his lap, and wiped at her face, sniffing back her tears. “I know. She’s not alone. She’s got Gendry and the Reeds.”

Petyr tilted his head, “The Reeds?”

She nodded. “In all the chaos, they swooped in and refused to let Meera go home with Bran, saying their home was safer. Bran was about to start a fight over it, but I realized they’re right. No one has ever invaded their home. In fact, I doubt many have ever even seen it. I asked them to take Arya and Gendry with them and they agreed.” 

“What was the price?” 

Sansa shook her head. “They are more loyal than you think.”

There was always a price. “Be that as it may...”

“They are officially out of this fight,” she responded without hesitation. “I’ve ordered all Reeds to remain at Greywater to watch over our family.” 

Petyr didn’t like the idea of any one family standing back and keeping their hands clean. It was too suspicious of a maneuver, but it was Howland and Jyana they were talking about. Both were noble and righteous, and neither were industrious enough to take advantage of such a position. At least, he hoped. Petyr was suspicious of everyone at the moment; somehow, having his child stolen from him fostered that feeling. 

“Do you know where Dany is now?” Sansa’s question pulled Petyr from his thoughts. 

“No.” He knew telling her that it was Cersei would only assure her involvement.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Where are we going? And where are Oberyn and Bronn?” 

He answered what he could get away with. “They are grabbing more  _ hardware _ .”

Sansa stared back at him, looking for the lie. There was none to find, though that didn’t mean the same feeling didn’t linger. Evasion often rubbed as wrong as deception. She glanced back over her shoulder, watching the dotted line in the center of the road move through the windshield. Her head tilted a little but she didn’t ask the question again. 

It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been prudent to distract her. He’d lean forward and kiss her deeply, let her feel grounded in their love, so hard fought, and forget the logic that made her question. He glanced down to his lap with her in it and then back up to her eyes puffy with emotion. She was scared and sad and all the feelings that make a person recoil within themselves, and there she was: sitting in his lap, looking for answers. She truly was his. 

No matter how smart it was to act otherwise, Petyr needed to give her what no one else could. He would be honest with his wife. “It’s not Dany, it’s Cersei.”

There was a slight twitch as her body physically rejected the idea. Sansa shook her head, forcing a smile. “No. You have it wrong. Cersei wouldn’t do this.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to.

Sansa slid from his lap to the seat next to him and he felt the rush of cool air hit his thighs. Petyr bit the inside of his cheek in mild regret. Honesty often bore loneliness.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about because she didn’t do it.” Sansa glared at him, suddenly so composed. “There’s a line.”

“And she crossed it.”

“No.” 

“Sansa-”

“No. Do you hear me?” Her lips pursed. 

Petyr reached for her. 

She yanked her hand away quickly. “Say what you will about Cersei, but children are a line she won’t cross.”

He almost didn’t ask it, but owed it to them both to push on. “Is there really any line she won’t cross?” 

Sansa blinked a couple of times and then turned away from him. Petyr craned his neck to see her face, hard and determined as she reached for the gun that was sitting on the seat and began tucking it between her legs. 

Petyr’s phone vibrated in his hand.  _ Ashemark Warehouse. _

As expected, Varys came through. 

“Ashemark Warehouse,” Petyr called up to the front. 

Sansa’s head shot up. “Ashemark? That’s Lannister.”

“I know,” he answered. Soon enough, she would too. 

“It isn’t the Lannisters,” she argued. 

Petyr picked up one of the pistols she’d loaded and set on the seat. “That’s where the information is pointing right now, and I want Elenei back, so I’ll follow it.”

“What information?”

There was no nice way of putting it. “The Lannister-loving teacher I murdered at the recital.”

Sansa touched her hand to the blood stains on his chest. “This isn’t right,” she protested weakly. “This isn’t Cersei.”

He knew she’d formed some sort of bastardized version of a friendship with the woman, and on any other occasion he would have respected that. In light of recent events, however, he lacked the patience for it. “ _ Really? _ ” He all but hollered. “Because this whole war has felt like Cersei!” 

“She lost her kids,” Sansa defended.

His teeth clenched together, and disdain dripped from his lips as he reminded her, “So have we.”

That struck a chord. 

Sansa turned in her seat and stared ahead. Silence shrouded them as the car sped forward. Keeping one eye on her for any response she was able to give, Petyr’s thumb worked to send a text to both Oberyn and Bronn. He of course, first had to exit out of the dozen frantic return messages from Stannis. Then again, with the order Petyr issued, the man was right to feel squeamish. 

Lacking the energy to fend off any attack from Sansa, he loosened his tie and turned to look out the window at nothing in particular. She was buried deep in denial and he couldn’t sit through it with her, not while his baby was in Ashemark. Did the Lannisters tie her up? Gag her to avoid hearing her cries? Had she run out of tears to shed?

Petyr startled when he felt something on his leg. A quick glance down verified that it was Sansa’s hand, the diamond he’d bought for it sparkled in each passing street light. Her voice was small as she said, “I believe you.”

Frustration furrowed his brow and he wanted to snap back that he didn’t exactly need her vote of confidence. Facts were facts. He’d been on the other end of the blade and seen the truth in dead eyes. What use did he have for her belief? Anything she knew, she knew because he told her.

And yet, her acknowledgement meant something. It came at a high cost for her, and he couldn’t seem to overlook that. If that wasn’t enough, her voice warbled a little as she added, “I’m sorry.”

Apologies were few and far between, particularly with Sansa. Adding an apology to the situation doused the righteous fire he’d been trying to control. Petyr said nothing in return, only covered her hand with his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

He would have been satisfied sitting in the silence. Sansa, on the other hand, was not. Once she’d accepted the painful reality of things, she pulled herself up from her bootstraps and set to work. “Who do we have?” 

The car took a turn and accelerated as Petyr thought. “From me? Grafton, Corbrays, and Royce.” He brought her hand to his lips and pecked a kiss, needing the comfort of such intimacy. “From you? Without the Reeds, that leaves only Karstarks and Manderlys.”

“Don’t forget the Glovers,” she corrected. 

“They aren’t reliable,” he countered. Sybelle was a stuck up bitch known to give Robett difficulty at the worst possible time. 

“They damn-well better be!” Sansa growled more at the situation than him. “Robett knows where his bread is buttered and I don’t mind stealing Sybelle from the nearest Talbot’s fitting room and slicing her up to remind him if he dared to forget.” 

Petyr inhaled through his nostrils, taking in his wife’s beauty.

“Which families have you called upon?” She asked, unaware of his hushed appreciation for her. 

He gave a guilty glance down to his phone. No one. He hadn’t called anyone. “I was waiting for a location,” he defended. 

Sansa nodded quickly. “Alright. Now that we’ve got one, I’ll start calling.” 

Petyr didn’t waste another second, instantly dialing Bronzy. He told himself that he would have been quicker at it if she hadn’t inserted herself and taken him by surprise. Riding with her and the emotions she brought about was enough to distract anyone. 

Before he could pull his hand from hers, she brought it to her lips and kissed him back. Her face set in a determination that left even him feeling unsteady. “Let’s get our baby.”

He nodded, caught in the conviction of her stare. 

As soon as she’d released him, they both buried their noses in their phones. A series of responses vowing allegiance and manpower did some to soothe the urgency of their need. It wasn’t long before the car came to a stop and Petyr’s eyes found Sansa’s. They were raw and swollen but resolute.

The car door opened beside him and he stepped out completely unconcerned for any sort of retaliation. The violence would most certainly take place inside. He held his hand out for Sansa to take as she rose from the car, her heels landing on the pavement. Almost as soon as he’d shut the door behind her, both Oberyn and Bronn pulled up beside them. There was something to be said for the speed of muscle cars.

Oberyn was the fastest from his vehicle, while Bronn took his time. Petyr would have thought age played a part in that, though he’d hired Bronn enough in the past to know that was just how the man moved. A wide grin spread across Oberyn’s face as he took note of Sansa’s presence. “Ah, Sansa. It is fitting that you would take an active part in the recovery of your little one. Where most women would stand back and wait,” His hands turned to claws as he gripped the air in front of him. “You step forward and take back what is yours.”

She gave him a polite smile and to Petyr’s pleasure, did not respond. He started to speak when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A wild mane of unnaturally red hair was running towards them. 

“How many people do we have?” Bronn asked. 

“Almost all the families,” Sansa responded. 

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “Almost?” 

“It’s not important,” Petyr waved him off. “We have enough.” 

Olyvar came to a stop in front of them, gasping for breath. “Varys is already inside. I told him to wait for everyone, but he was determined to get a visual.” 

“And has he gotten one?” 

Olyvar glanced over to Bronn and then back to Petyr before nodding. “He says there’s at least thirty men in there.”

“How did Varys get inside?” Sansa asked. 

It was Oberyn who asked what they were all thinking. “What difference does that make?”

Petyr wouldn’t have thought that question very important, had it not been for Olyvar’s averted gaze. At that, he insisted. “Speak.” 

Olyvar lifted his chin. His pale skin had a sweaty sheen, eyes bloodshot as he sniffed through a reddened nose. It was clear he was working against all the drugs he’d enjoyed earlier. “Kevan Lannister let him in.” 

“How very much like a Lannister to betray their own kind,” Oberyn observed with disdain. 

Bronn sighed, “And where is the little backstabber now?” 

If Bronn knew anything about Kevan Lannister, he would know he wasn’t little, nor typically deceitful. He’d been pushed to that point. Petyr didn’t bother to correct Bronn, wanting the answer more. 

“He’s taken off.”

Sansa’s head snapped to attention. “ _ Taken off? _ ”

Olyvar nodded. 

The sound of vehicles approaching made Olyvar glance over as he answered. “He said he couldn’t kill Jaime, so he’d let you do it. Then he said if God was good there would be a chance down the road to finish you off too.” 

“Brazen,” Bronn laughed. 

Yes, it was. Varys was alone behind enemy lines and Kevan seized the opportunity to get himself and his family out of town. Unacceptable. 

Van doors opened Karstarks all dressed in black flooded out carrying long cases. One could say what they would about their loyalty, but when they showed up, they did so prepared. Bronn rubbed his forehead and said, “They’ll already have men in the rafters.” 

“What?” Sansa asked. 

“They’ve got sniper rifles. Looks like they want to get up high and pick people off.”

A feminine voice called from inside the car. “That’s the plan!” Little Alys Karstark, who couldn’t have been a day past fifteen hopped out of the car and grabbed one of the cases, ducking her head under the shoulder strap. The gun had to be as long as she was tall. She smacked her older brother Torrhen’s chest and grinned. “Tor’ll clear the way for us to set up shop.”

The man grunted and shoved a third pistol in his belt before he unloaded an automatic assault rifle from the van. Petyr glanced to Sansa who was grinning proudly. These were her people and they were coming through.

“I thought we were rescuing a child, not employing one,” Oberyn snarked at Alys. 

She growled indignantly, “Fuck off, foreigner!”

“Manners!” Harald cuffed her upside the head. “Don’t forget, it’s diversity that keeps you from being your own step mother.” 

She leveled him with a scowl. “Fuck you too.” 

Not bothering to do her the courtesy of a response, he turned to Oberyn and pursed his lips. “Not that it needs explaining, but we answered the call and she knows her way around an Istiglal.” 

“ _ An Istiglal _ ? They say that can split a man in two at eight hundred meters.” Bronn’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got a real Istiglal in there?! Can I touch it?”

“Are you fucking deaf old man?” Harrion Karstark answered. The man was a brick wall, both in muscle and brains and went by ‘Hard Harry’ for obvious reasons. 

“No.” Bronn shrugged his shoulders and grinned mischievously. “Just oppositionally defiant.” 

Unable to stand idle through anymore, Petyr growled, “ _ Enough! _ ”

Sansa grit her teeth. “Our baby is in there!”

The sound of a loud engine approaching stole their attention. It was an old-school Jeep Cherokee, open top. Bronzy’s boys filled the tight space, barrels of guns poking out of the open doors. Vegas was behind the wheel with the youngest, Pretty Boy beside him. Robar (a.k.a. Juggles, for some reason only known to the brothers) was easily recognizable with his copper locks grown out and flipped to the side out of his face, cigarette dangling from his mouth. 

He’d been standing in the back, holding onto the rumble bar up top and didn’t wait for the jeep to stop before he jumped out, taking extra steps in the momentum. Robar carried an assault rifle in both hands, his grin toothy and his eyes crazed. He sported an obvious boner that lead one to wonder if he’d just come fresh from some unrelated murder. 

Wasting no time, the brothers stepped forward. Pretty Boy carried an old wooden baseball bat on his shoulder that he gripped and twisted as he simpered at them. “Grafton’s on his way. We passed him a mile back.”

“Excuse me if I am overstepping,” Oberyn gestured towards Pretty Boy. “But, this fight will warrant a bit more firepower than your bat can pack…” 

“Leave him alone.” Vegas straightened his blazer and slicked back his hair. The holsters under his arms and on his hips bulged beneath his clothing. “He can’t help it if he likes to hear their skulls crack.” 

“ _ Feel _ ,” Pretty Boy corrected. 

Vegas gave a confused expression. “Really? I thought you liked to hear it.” 

“I thought it was both,” Robar inserted. 

Pretty Boy sighed. “Well, if I had to choose between the two, I’d pick the feeling over hearing. But I guess, overall, it is both.” 

“Then why did you have to fix what I said?” Vegas pursed his lips. “You know I don’t like that.” 

“Yeah, you know he doesn’t like that,” Robar added. 

Pretty Boy groaned, guilty. 

“You were working on that.” Vegas stood firm, not accepting his silence.

“Fine. Sorry, okay?” 

Robar let his gun hang from the strap around his neck and clasped his brothers’ shoulders, bringing them closer together. “Nicely done boys. A good kill will set us right.”

“Or a fire.”

“Why not both?” Vegas asked and the three of them roared with laughter.

Petyr’s eyes met Sansa’s, thankful the Royces were more friend than foe. If they counted themselves, they had twelve people to the thirty-some that Jaime and Cersei had sequestered away with them. It wasn’t enough, but more was on the way. 

“We going stealth on this?” The gravelly voice asking the question came from out of nowhere. 

Another disembodied voice, this time much softer with feminine notes answered, “No, I don’t suppose we’ll bother. It isn’t as if they haven’t seen the crowd gathered outside already.” 

There was movement in the shadows and Petyr squinted his eyes to better see a man and woman make their way into the parking lot lights. The woman spoke first, as if she were well acquainted with them. “Baelishes! Please accept our assistance in collecting your daughter. Mother and Father wish they could be here personally, but you know…short notice and all.” 

Sansa’s jaw tightened. “Erena.” 

“Mrs. Baelish.” 

As promised, the Glovers were in attendance. Petyr supposed it was only natural that the older generation wasn’t present to get their hands dirty. Bronzy and Karstark hadn’t arrived either. If it weren’t his own daughter, Petyr probably would have simply sent force in his stead as well. 

He had kept his hands in his pocket and held his tongue as the reinforcements flooded in. As much as he wanted to charge into that warehouse and take his daughter back, he knew he needed some muscle to do so. At fourteen, with a man inside, the odds were only two to one. Jaime and Cersei were cracked out of their heads, and had lost both Tyrion and Kevan. Leffords and Marbrands weren’t worth the same as the northern and eastern soldiers. They gave up too easily and died too quickly.

That bitch at the dance recital had proven that Lannister blood still posed a somewhat worthy opponent, but Petyr was certain Kevan’s leaving would have weakened that force. A man so loyal deserting would definitely turn heads and weaken resolves. Petyr glanced to Sansa, who looked downright bloodthirsty. Her chest heaved, every muscle in her body flexed as she stared at the door. 

She wanted inside and so did he. In a voice he hardly recognized, he gave the order. “Kill all Lannisters on sight.” His eyes traveled over every heavily-armed person in front of him. “Do not stop until our daughter is safe and in our arms.” 

“It will be done,” Grafton responded. Petyr hadn’t noticed when he arrived, but was grateful to not only see Gyles, but Gerald too. Father and son stood side by side with solemn expressions of devotion. 

Sansa pressed a pistol into Olyvar’s hand. “Stand outside, send the right people in, and keep the wrong ones from coming out.” 

Olyvar gulped nervously. “Oh, oh-kay.”

“Can we get this show on the road?” Robar goused. 

Sansa gripped Petyr’s hand and said softly, “We should split up.” 

His head whipped around to her, his hand tightening as he growled, “ _ No. _ ”

“It will double the chance we’ll find her.”

He would have none of it. “Check your math.” Petyr took a deep breath, controlling the burst of rage he felt at the idea of being parted from her. “We don’t separate. I won’t risk losing you too.”

Her eyes were glassy as she stared back at him. “Petyr, if there’s a chance that we can free her even a fraction of a second sooner, then I’m going to take it. She’s ours and she’s scared and she’s what matters above all else.” 

There was no arguing with that, though that didn’t mean he didn’t have a million comebacks at the ready. Sansa was where his world began, but she was right, his children where where it all could end. He knew she felt the same, and if he didn’t agree with her, she’d do what she wanted anyway. He spoke through clenched jaw. “Take Bronn with you. Go nowhere without him.” 

She swallowed and nodded. 

He stared into the cerulean pools of her eyes as he called, “Move out!” 

The men rushed forward, breaking down the door in front of them, screaming their adrenaline as they did. Petyr kept his hold of Sansa as they charged past. One distinct warcry stood out among the rest as Pretty Boy tapped his hand over his mouth like he were some native chief taking back his land. Vegas chuckled as he walked along side, drawing his pistols. Alys tipped her head to Petyr and Sansa as she brought up the rear, lugging the rare sniper rifle rumored to more than halve a man at such close range. 

The first bullet discharged, thundering through the warehouse walls.

The music of maelstrom followed in the form of surprised screams, autofire, and sick cackling from either one or all of the Royces. Neither Petyr, nor Sansa broke eye contact. Oberyn purred from the sidelines, “If your man, Bronn is going with Sansa, then I will stay by your side.” 

He wasn’t fooling anyone. He would stay close to Petyr because he knew that as soon as Jaime was found, he’d be handed directly to Petyr. It was simply the most efficient way to get his hands on the lead Lannister.

Petyr did not turn to acknowledge his offer, but instead leaned into Sansa. She brought her hand to the back of his head, holding him to her as her lips professed the urgency of both her love for him and their daughter. 

They said nothing as they pulled from each other, only turned and stepped through the door. Halogen lights and gunpowder sparks lit the way. Hoarse cries carried over the smoke and kickback encouraged Petyr to tighten his grip on Sansa’s hand. Refusing to allow him to go back on his word, Sansa’s slender fingers wriggled free from him and she nodded towards his left before she turned and took off to the right, gun drawn. 

Her instruction to go left while she went right grated him, and whether he wanted to follow her lead or not, his legs refused to move. Bronn ran after her, looking back only to flash him a silent promise. “Come,” Oberyn laid a hand on his shoulder. “Your woman will be fine. Let’s get your daughter and kill Lannisters.”

The weight of his hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his fear and filled him with hate. “ _ Go, _ ” he ordered. Oberyn raised his eyebrows, but nodded quickly before running ahead, shooting at targets Petyr couldn’t see but was certain had fallen.

He followed behind him, back a couple of steps so he wasn’t right on Oberyn’s heels. They were walking the perimeter of the warehouse, ducking behind crates and other cargo containers. This was much closer to the action than Petyr preferred but the thought of his little girl locked away filled with terror kept him moving. 

Oberyn growled something unintelligible through a grin and emptied the rest of a clip in a towhead Petyr didn’t recognize. It was easy enough to assume that it was a lesser Lannister. Judging by the excitement that washed over Oberyn, he had assumed so as well. There was movement in the corner of Petyr’s eye and when he turned get a better look, he jerked to a stop. 

Elenei’s face peered through the large glass viewing window of the foreman’s office. She waved her little hand at him, a big grin on her face as she mouthed,  _ Daddy _ !

Everything instantly slowed around him, breath catching in his lungs. The bass of his heart beat in his ears, dulling the sound of gunfire around him. His eyes scanned her through the window, looking for any injury or threat.

Hatred flowed through him when she saw that she was not alone. Jorah Mormont stood beside her, his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed him through the glass. His features were not mocking, showing how little pleasure he appeared to be taking in his position of leverage. Petyr took a step forward, ready to face off with Dany’s puppet, only to be stopped by an olive-skinned hand catching him in the chest. 

Oberyn, every bit the predator he was, eyed his prey. Petyr followed his gaze over to Jaime. The Lannister king wore a sick, blood-soaked grin. “Took you long enough.”

As much as he hated to hand Jaime over to anyone else, Elenei was too within reach for Petyr to be hindered. “He’s all yours,” he sneered to Oberyn. 

“Excellent,” Oberyn purred.

Jaime raised his gold-caste prosthetic hand in the air and Jorah uncrossed his arms, stepping closer to Elenei. “This is between Baelish and I. It’s nothing to do with you,” he said to Oberyn. 

“My sister would not agree.” 

There was a subtle movement through the glass that Petyr squinted to better see. 

“Thankfully she’s dead, so we don’t have to tell her she’s wrong.”

A familiar bald head appeared behind Jorah. Elenei must have either heard something quiet or sensed movement behind her, because she looked over her shoulder. Jorah gave no indication that he’d heard anything and Varys held a finger over his lips to Elenei to maintain the silence. 

Petyr glanced over as Oberyn roared, “Draw your weapon, you Lannister bastard!”

Varys’ hands covered his ears, his eyes shut theatrically. Elenei nodded and covered her own ears before closing her eyes. Jorah stood transfixed by the warzone on the other side of the glass, seeming not to notice the silent conversation occurring around him. 

“If I raise my gun, it’ll be at Baelish,” Jaime sneered. 

Petyr’s eyes darted back to Jaime, and ensured he stayed distracted. “Don’t take it personally, Oberyn. Jaime won’t meet your challenge because he can’t.” 

“Can’t I?” Jaime cocked his head at him, his smile sick. 

Varys’ arms flew up suddenly and Jorah’s head threw back as he fought to breath. His hands came up and clawed at his own throat, Varys’ signature piano wire too thin to be gripped. Jorah’s eyes bulged out, the whites turning pink from all the blood vessels bursting in his silent struggle to live. 

Petyr grinned and pointed at Jaime’s golden hand. Varys grit his teeth, keeping a tight grip as Jorah slowly sank down to his death. Trying not to watch Elenei jump into Varys arms, Petyr kept Jaime’s attention on him. “Just look at my wife’s  _ handi- _ work, _ ” _ he laughed mid sentence. “Weren’t you right handed? I doubt you’ve perfected your left-handed aim just yet.”

Varys tucked her little head under his chin and locked eyes with Petyr through the glass before he turned to make his escape with Elenei. The door flew open and Brune appeared behind the glass. Jaime raised his gun and threatened Petyr. “You’ll see how useless I am after I shoot you full of hot lead.” 

Brune looked down and quickly realized what had happened, he nodded to Petyr through the glass before stepping in front of Varys to better shield and cover the precious cargo he carried. Relieved to see Elenei secured, Petyr rubbed his finger gently over the trigger of his gun. “You went too far, Jaime. Taking my child.” 

“Word is, you’ve been killing mine,” he countered quickly.

“You’ve never been the brightest.” Petyr looked up at the ceiling and chuckled, trying to contain the rage that filled his insides. “I mean, no one’s ever accused you of being mensa-material.” He brought his hand up, gun waving as he explained. “It was alright, though. Because you  _ had  _ Tyrion to wipe your ass.” 

Jaime ground his anger through his teeth. “And you killed him too!” 

“At his request, yes. We assisted him.” Petyr smirked, knowing that every moment he kept talking with Jaime, Varys and Brune got Elenei further away. “He was so much like your father. Both wanted to die, both too weak to do it themselves.” 

Oberyn glanced over at him, clearly wondering what he was getting at. Jaime scowled, “Shut your mouth. You killed my brother and my father ended his life years ago when he felt his mind slipping.” 

Ignoring him, Petyr continued to share the secrets Tyrion revealed. “But you didn’t know that. How could you? Your brother too cowardly to confess.” 

“You shut up about my brother!” Jaime took a step forward, pointing his gun. 

Petyr took pleasure in cultivating Jaime’s sense of betrayal. “He wanted to be strangled like his girlfriend and couldn’t do it himself.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“I imagine it was easy for him to ask for help because that’s what he knew to do. What your father did.” Petyr shrugged nonchalantly to hide the emotion that was flooding him. “Tyrion must have been been so lonely all these years, keeping such secrets from you.” 

Jaime shook his head. “You don’t know what your talking about.” 

“He confessed before he died. Told Varys and I the whole thing. Said Tywin asked him to shoot him in the heart because he couldn’t go through with doing it on his own.” 

“What does this matter?” Oberyn voiced the question he’d been keeping to himself.

Petyr ignored him, keeping his attention to Jaime. “For years Tyrion lived with that secret because he didn’t want to lose you. That was until you decided to go crazy and disregard his counsel, neglect him…”

_ “Enough!” _ Both Jaime and Oberyn screamed in unison. 

Petyr smirked. They were both so hot to seek revenge that they could easily cancel each other out. Petyr had planned to kill them both when the opportunity arose, why not let them do it for him? 

Oberyn held his gun on Jaime. It was clear that he would have taken the shot forever ago, had there not been some small reasonable part of him that made him wait. Killing Jaime without approval from Petyr would have felt just in the moment, but would have caused more problems down the road. Though his eyes were filled with murder, he could see a future for himself, and that future included business with the Baelishes. 

Jaime’s gun pointed between Petyr and Oberyn, unsure which threat would act first. One would expect Jaime to shoot first. He was, after all, high, crazy, and righteous. Something held him back. His thoughts weren’t on business, but he still had Cersei to think of. And Myrcella. 

Where was Myrcella, anyway? 

Petyr lowered his gun, taking away whatever threat he might have posed. Both men glanced to him, curious what he was up to. With no other choice, Jaime turned his gun to Oberyn exclusively. “What are you playing at, Baelish?” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to admit just exactly what he was up to. He didn’t, however. Too careful. Too cautious. “Oberyn is a dear friend to me, and a grave injustice has been done to his family.” He offered Oberyn a meaningful look, that he hoped hid his true intentions. “I am sanctioning your death by his hands.”

Oberyn grinned and cocked his gun. “I wasn’t sure you were going to allow this, with all your talking.” 

“I needed to twist the blade, is all.”

“Fuck you both!” Jaime growled and cocked his own gun. 

There was a loud crash beside them as a stack of boxes toppled over, Wylis Manderly landing on top of them. The Manderlys had come after all, at least the last living son had. He shook off the pain and locked his elbows, aiming forward and firing his pistol. 

Petyr and Oberyn recognized the determined brow and golden blond mane, streaked in the silver only age afforded. It was Kevan, back into the frey. Despite what he knew, despite what he did. He was loyal as ever, finding Jaime in his hour of need. 

Manderly shot and missed and as Kevan descended upon him, a stray shot caught him in the arm. Gerald Grafton approached, smoke wafting from the barrel of his gun. He had proven to be an investment that kept rewarding over the years.

When Petyr looked up, Jaime was gone. 

Coward. 

He knew he wasn’t coming out of this. For as much loyalty as Kevan had to him, he lacked faith in Kevan’s ability to keep him safe. Oberyn and Manderly turned their attention entirely on Kevan. 

“Couldn’t stay away?” Oberyn teased through his grin. 

Petyr didn’t take his playful demeanor at face value. However, for as annoyed as Jaime was at missing out on Jaime, he was good at cutting his losses. Kevan was still a Lannister. 

“Family is family,” Kevan fumed. 

Petyr glanced around, trying to spot Jaime. What he saw instead was an orchestra of death and destruction. With Jaime on the loose, however impaired, the fight would never end. The question of where he could be had only just formed in Petyr’s mind before he had an answer. 

Cersei. 

A man always sought his wife. To lick his wounds. To keep her safe.

Petyr’s thoughts raced to Sansa and he was running before he had even picked a direction. 

 

 

 


	23. Magnificent Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her words were a cut on the sole of her foot, walked on and never healed.

Once Petyr was out of sight, she kicked her shoes off and ran. Any direction was better than none at all, and Sansa needed to move past the ground they’d already covered. The rough yank of Bronn’s grip on her arm steered her, swerving from stray bullets she hadn’t the head to look for.

The balls of her feet crashed down on the concrete, the force of each step reverberating up her shins as she moved. Blood splattered up the back of her calf, feet slapping through the crimson puddles that grew beside each freshly fallen body. The floor was covered in dirt and grime and the occasional corpse to jump over, or step on to propel herself further forward. Bronn grunted his annoyance each time she attempted such a maneuver, and quickened his pace to keep up.

As expected, the Lannister warehouse was filled with Leffords, Marbrands, and lesser Lannisters. Sansa was thankful Kevan and his crew had pissed off the Freys prior, otherwise the they would surely be present as well. The Freys always jumped at the chance to earn an extra dime, no matter where it came from. Being slighted by the Lannisters, however, evoked what little principle they operated under. Standing aside and opening the bridge to the calvary that rushed to the Baelishes’ aid was their lazy retaliation for such blatant disrespect.

Walder would still expect some compensation from the Baelishes for their assistance, however minimal, later.

There was a flicker of white light in the distance and when Sansa squinted to see it better, Dany’s insidious smile came into view. As suddenly as she appeared, she vanished. With more force than necessary, Sansa broke from Bronn’s grip and charged forward, refusing to lose her.

It wasn’t Cersei, she knew it! The evidence may have pointed in her direction, but Sansa knew in her gut she wasn’t behind this. Elenei was a child. This whole thing had started over children. It just wasn’t Cersei’s MO. Dany on the other hand, would stoop to any low and her presence at the warehouse only confirmed any suspicion of her guilt.

Bronn shouted for Sansa to slow down, but she kept running, possessed with the need to catch Dany. She would tell Sansa where her daughter was, or she’d lose her eyes--to start. Chasing little peeks of platinum she spotted between gunfire, Sansa ignored the anarchy that surrounded them as well as the protective commands of Bronn behind her. What did it matter if she were injured, or worse, killed? Elenei had been taken from her, and god only knew what she was suffering because of it.

If she was still alive.

Sansa inhaled deeply, fighting back tears as she ran past the rain of blood Pretty Boy splashed in, cackling as he did. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Kevan Lannister run and duck behind a crate. _So much for escaping with his family, loyal to the bitter fucking end_ , she thought absently as she moved.  

And then another thought struck her, _Petyr!_ She had to tell him that Kevan was back in the fray. He was skilled, more so than most of the men they were pitted against. The last thing she needed was for Petyr to get blindsided encountering him amidst the chaos. Torn between her need to protect Petyr and her need to find her daughter, she whirled around on Bronn. She’d opened her mouth to speak, but instead squawked when his arms wrapped around her and turned them sharply, pulling her to the ground.

“ _Erg_!” Bronn grunted above her head, cursing though his pain. “Cock-sucking-ball-sack!”

“What?” Sansa blinked up at him.

“Your fucking running around got me shot!”

Sansa squirmed under him. There was no time for compassion or apologies, Dany was getting away. “Knock it off!” Bronn growled, touching his shoulder.

“It’s shallow. Nothing a pair of tweezers, a bottle of Wild Turkey, and your sister’s sympathy won’t fix,” he assured her. As if she could care in that moment. It had been four long seconds since she’d caught a glimpse of Dany. A lot could happen in four seconds. Elenei’s beautiful eyes, big and brimming with tears came to mind, sending adrenaline coursing through Sansa. The blood rushed in her veins bringing every ounce of muscle in her body to its full potential.

“Jesus, Golden Snatch, you been working out?” He asked, surprised by her strength as she pushed against him. “I get you want up. I gotta make sure it’s clear first.”

Fuck clear. Who cared? He didn’t see what she had. He didn’t know what was going on in her head, and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter because Elenei wasn’t his. Bronn hadn’t carried Elenei in his body, hadn’t fought to bring her into the world. He certainly hadn’t cradled her in his arms night after night, promising he would always keep her safe. The hired hitman had no concept of what it was like to break that promise, to feel a vital part of himself severed.

She kicked under him to get up, her eyes darting around for Dany, seeing only a beet red face, dark deep-set eyes and gritted teeth that flashed an infamous gold tooth. Leo Lefford, himself, ran towards them. There was no time to warn Bronn, so she slid her arm out from under him and fired. As if he were more than mere mortal man, Leo kept running towards them despite the wounds he sustained. Sansa was pulling the trigger on an empty chamber by the time Leo fell to his knees in front of her.

Bronn jumped off her and helped her to her feet. “You out?”

Sansa tossed the useless gun on the ground, growling, “ _Yes._ ”

She went to reach for her spare when a rough hand grabbed hers. Her head snapped up to see Gerald Grafton in front of her. “ _Gerald,_ ” she gasped, surprised by the contact.

“Take it,” he grunted.

Sansa looked down at the gun he’d pressed into her palm. She wanted to say thank you, but when she saw him, she instantly thought of Petyr again. Grafton was the most loyal of all the men that worked for Petyr. He would keep her husband safe. “Petyr--Kevan’s here.”

Understanding immediately, Grafton nodded once and then lifted his head to call out, “ _Gyles!_ ”

The mop of curls that had saved Jon’s life appeared. “Dad?”

Grafton’s eyes scanned the room as he spoke. “Protect Mrs. Baelish.” He glanced over to Bronn, sizing him up before he turned back to Gyles and instructed, “Follow his orders.”

Gyles nodded obediently. “Yes, Dad.”

Grafton said nothing more and was gone in the blink of an eye. Sansa took a deep breath and told herself Petyr would be alright.

“Look! It’s Baelish’s bitch!”

Meryn Trant and Ilyn Payne stood side by side up ahead. Payne’s deadpan expression and vacant eyes despite the bloodshed and chorus of agonizing screams that filled the warehouse, was consistent with his nickname: The Executioner. Trant, on the other hand, had developed a reputation for the pleasure he took in others pain.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to kill anyone with my cock,” Trant taunted, licking his lips. “I bet that pussy will tear up and bleed out nicely for me!”

Payne ignored his partner’s sadistic sniping and advanced toward them. The toothy grin Trant bared as he bounded towards Sansa made her cringe and Gyles step in front of her.

“Easy kid,” Bronn said. “I’ll take the sick fuck. You take zombie-face.”

Gyles nodded and took two steps to the left, allowing Bronn to slide in front of Sansa. She glanced around, looking for her next move. Elenei couldn’t wait for Bronn and Gyles to face off with Trant and Payne. Her baby was waiting for her. A blonde shimmer flew by on the other side of the room and Sansa tightened her grip on her gun.

A loud crack sounded through the air and her nerves felt like they had all abandoned ship, jumping from her skin. “Whoa! Fucking brilliant, that was!” Bronn laughed incredulously.

Sansa followed his gaze past Gyles (horrified) and Trant (screeching) to what remained of Payne. He hadn’t been split in two perse, but he definitely wasn’t a whole man anymore. The Istiglal had taken him apart in chunks and clumps. If Bronn didn't have a gun in his hands, she was sure he would have been clapping at the spectacle. Instead, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled up into the rafters. Alys paid him little attention, already setting her sights on someone else across the warehouse. No one was out of reach, not to little Alys Karstark, and Sansa couldn’t have been more grateful.

She took advantage of the distraction and ran for the last place she saw Dany.

Bronn barked, “ _Stop!_ ”

No.

She couldn’t. Her feet lifted of their own accord, carrying her forward. Sansa was a runner, it was what her body knew to do. Speed would save Elenei, she was sure of it.

The sound of battle behind her promised Bronn and Gyles had met resistance, allowing her to continue unhindered in her pursuit. A flutter of blond taunted her by a stack of crates and within a heartbeat she’d flown forward fifty feet and fought to keep her balance as she banked a hard left and skidded to a stop.

Dany’s hair--devoid of color, glowed under the fluorescent light above and gave her an ethereal look, as if she were the embodiment of innocence. The slow curl of her lips and enlarged pupils, hinted at her demonic nature. Though she stood alone, Sansa knew that didn’t mean she truly was. Sansa glanced around, remembering the husband Dany dragged overseas with her. Where had he gotten to? Better yet, where was everyone else?

She’d followed Dany off the battlefield to a corner too quiet and tucked away for comfort. It didn’t feel right, not that anything did without her family safe and sound. Another look around verified that although this was a Lannister fight, not a one of them attempted to interrupt or join their little meeting.

“Hey, Bitch.”

The woman’s greeting was juvenile and Sansa lacked the patience to address it. Feeling the weight of the gun in her hand, she used the power she felt from it to don her mask. She needed confidence. It was the only way to meet another queen. That wasn’t to say that Dany was anywhere near her equal, but she thought she was and that could be just as dangerous. Sansa forced a smirk as she said, “You can’t hope to get out of here alive. You know that, don’t you? You must.”

“Oh Sweetie, I died a little the day my Kahl did.” Her smile faltered, her expression growing distant as she added, “And even more so when fever stole our son from me. Loneliness is a living death.” Her words were a cut on the sole of her foot, walked on and never healed.

It was as if she were looking right through Sansa as she admitted, “I haven’t been alive for quite some time.”

Sansa bit back the urge to remind her that she remarried, knowing being glib was a poor choice. She decided to offer her authenticity in hopes that she would tell her where her daughter was. “When it happened, I was sorry that things went down as they did.”

Dany gave a wry smile, blinking back the tears of painful memories. “ _Sorry?_ What do I care for your sorries?” She shook her head. “They are nothing but lies.”

“No,” Sansa argued. “When I saw the photo, I was sorry. For the baby.”

“Not for me, though.”

Sansa considered her response. Under the halogen lights, Dany’s eyes took on a strange violet hue that unnerved her. She couldn’t get the image of Elenei gagged and zip tied to a chair out of her head. Was that how they were detaining her? Or did they just drug her little body to keep her asleep and quiet? Sansa’s voice hardened as she answered, “No.”

“Of course not. Why would you? Who was I to you?” Her jaw twitched, her eyes narrowing. “Just some bitch at the fights to threaten so you’d look better to your man.”

Sansa kept to herself the reality that she hadn’t actually boasted about their conversation to Petyr until long after it may have impressed. Dany’s perception was skewed, though it hardly mattered to Sansa. She just wanted her baby back.  

“You weren’t meant to survive, you know.” Dany gripped her forearm, as if to keep herself together as she admitted, “They were going to torture Baelish until you arrived and then they were going to tie you both to the anchor and drop it.”

Sansa felt her stomach lurch at the prospect. If they meant to keep Petyr alive to drop in the ocean, they were doing a poor job of it. When she got to him, he was barely breathing, his guts literally slipping from his insides. Sansa’s traumatic memories were met with a dash of Dany’s pride. “My Sun’n’Stars wouldn’t stand for threats to our baby.”

She paused before shooting Sansa a glare, “Instead, not only did you live and kill my man in the process, but you sent someone after me and the only piece I had left of Kahl.” Dany shook her head, her smile disbelieving.

Dany’s entire life had been ruined because Sansa was too impulsive in her youth, and spoke before she’d considered the consequences. It was a single act that had followed their families for years and lead them to this terrible place where everything had been up-ended and so much had been lost.

Elenei was out there somewhere.

She couldn’t let herself get caught up in the emotions of past mistakes. Dany chose to relive that hellish time in her mind, but Sansa refused to let herself be distracted by it any further. Pulling herself together, now fully aware of the consequences of threats, she issued one, “You were clearly meant to be a martyr.”

“Were you always this funny?” Dany huffed.

“Don’t act tough. We both know you’re not. Living in the past like you do.” Sansa gave her an apathetic eye roll as she forced more fake confidence from her lips. “You can hide behind the Lannisters all you want, but even they can’t protect you. Not now.”

“Aww. Is Sansa still butt-hurt I stole her bestie?”

She didn’t have time for this, Elenei was waiting for her. “Tell me where my daughter is, and I’ll make your death quick.”

“Well, that’s a tempting offer,” Dany mocked.

Sansa nodded. “It is. Because the death I have planned for you will take days.”

It was not Dany that answered, though Sansa recognized the voice instantly. “Days? That sounds interesting.”

Cersei stepped out from behind a stack of crates. Not since Joffrey’s lunch of broken glass, had Sansa seen her in the flesh. It had only been three weeks, yet it somehow felt so much longer. She looked awful--for her, which was still better than most. Cersei was thinner, pale cheeks sunken in. Her golden locks had lost their luster, more stringy than silky. Her lipstick, on the other hand, was still perfectly applied. It matched her manicured nails; painted a striking shade of red with gold tips that glittered. Even from twenty feet away, they caught Sansa’s eye.

Part of her wanted to scowl and curse her out, and yet still deep down inside, a part of her wanted to smile. It was with great effort that she was able to acknowledge her in an even tone. “Cersei.”

There was a warmth to Cersei’s smile that mislead. It was a trap, had to be. There was no way the same woman who sent Sansa such vile messages could feel anything but a bitter hate for her. Cersei’s words were gentle as she said, “Elenei is fine, Little Dove.”

Sansa wanted to feel reassured, but couldn’t let herself. Dany may have kidnapped Elenei, but as Petyr had pointed out so poignantly, all the evidence lead to the Lannisters. Cersei was deeply entrenched in all of this, despite what she’d have her think.

Dany moved in her periphery. She’d taken her phone out and was tapping on it, not looking up as she disagreed with Cersei. “Actually, no. She’s not.”

Cersei’s head tilted, her brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”

Dany shrugged. “Jorah’s with her, and he’ll kill her on my command.”

“She’s mine, Dany.” Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “We agreed. Elenei is mine to keep.”

_Mine to keep?_

What the hell was Cersei playing at? Sansa growled, “Elenei is no one’s but mine. I’m her mother!”

“Oh Sansa, you dumb bitch.” Dany clucked her teeth. “You can’t parent her if you’re dead. You should be thankful for Cersei’s sentimentality. So willing to saddle herself with your little brats after I kill you.”

“Is that what it was? Some fucked up bargain between the two of you?” Sansa raised the gun in her hand, her finger moving on the trigger, slippery with perspiration.

Dany laughed, “I thought it was quite reasonable actually, though I never meant to honor it, of course. The best way to hurt you before I kill you, is to kill your spawn before your very eyes first.”

Cersei’s face contorted in anger at such betrayal. “You will honor your end of the bargain.”

“Oh do shut up,” Dany dismissed. “Death would be a better fate for those kids than living with a junkie like you.”

Cersei drew her gun, growling as she did. “The bleach must have seeped too deep in your scalp. You’ve clearly lost your fucking mind.”

“Oh, _I’m_ the crazy one?” Dany countered. “What about--”

Sansa stopped listening to their squabbling and glanced between them, her gun staying on Dany, deeming her the larger threat at the moment. She cleared her throat and interrupted. “You have me now. There’s no need to spill anymore innocent blood.”

“Strange you’d suddenly care about innocent blood,” Cersei snapped, her attention leaving Dany to focus her rage at Sansa. “My boys had done nothing to you!”

“It’s okay, Cersei,” Dany soothed, so supportive all of a sudden. “You’re making her pay for her crimes.”

Cersei, actually looked somewhat comforted by that statement, which was quite disquieting. She’d lowered her gun when she turned to face Sansa, but it remained in her hand, something Sansa hadn’t failed to notice.

“And I plan to, too.” Dany’s thumb tapped her phone.

“No!” Sansa screamed.

Cersei glared at Dany again, her instruction unwavering. “Put the phone down.”

Dany’s lips pressed together as she worked her phone. Cersei took a step towards her. “ _I said,_ put the fucking phone down.”

Sansa’s hand started to shake, the need to murder so strong, eclipsed only by the need to know where Elenei was.

Dany sighed. “Look, I know you’re pissed you can’t replace your kids-”

“Replace?!” Cersei grit her teeth. “There is no _replacing_ my children.”

Sansa interjected, “But you were trying to?”

“No, Little Dove.” Cersei shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

Dany pretended to wretch, sticking her finger dramatically in her mouth. “Don’t act all squeamish now,” she said to Cersei, rolling her eyes. “Your hands aren’t clean.”

Losing every last ounce of reserve she had, Sansa screamed through clenched teeth, “Give me my daughter!”

Cersei glanced over, eyes wide as she caught sight of hers. There was something going on in there, but Sansa was too focused on Elenei to try figuring it out. Dany’s sick laugh jerked their attention back to her, their eyes leaving one another. “I mean, it was Auntie Cersei who took precious Elenei from her dance recital. Wasn’t it?” She turned to Sansa and laughed, “You’re so used to ignoring the little people, you never noticed we switched the dance instructor with one of Cersei’s girls. A cousin I think, not sure. She was the one who let Auntie Cersei in the back.”

“Stop it!” Cersei roared.

Sansa’s head whipped back to her, her gun following her new wide-eyed line of sight. Listening to the two of them discuss their treasonous plot dispelled any doubt she had that it was Cersei who stole her child, but hearing it said aloud in detail somehow stung more. Perhaps it was that a small part of her, hidden deep down, still hoped it wasn’t true. Then again, she was giving her over to Dany to murder, and planned to take her children as her own. In the grand scheme of things, what was a little kidnapping to add to the record of offenses?

When Cersei hadn’t said anything to deny the statement, a mist accumulated in Sansa’s eye. She shouldn’t have been shocked by the revelation, yet she still was. “You?”

Cersei swallowed, seemingly affected by Sansa’s honest reaction. “If I didn’t, she would.”

“I would have only been happy to,” Dany chuckled. She put her hand up in testimony, shrugging her shoulders. “Don’t worry, though. I’d express-mail her back to you, _piece by piece_.”

Sansa’s heart rebelled in her chest, threatening strike. The labor of keeping her alive and upright was becoming too much. Cersei’s voice did nothing to calm the squall of her insides. “Whatever’s between you and I, you have to know I would keep her safe as if she were my own.”

Sansa didn’t doubt the truth in that statement, and strangely enough, that actually upset her more. They weren’t Cersei’s children. They were hers and they were Petyr’s, Baelishes through and through. Sansa couldn’t bear the thought of her children being tucked in by anyone else, and her anger took on new life, the vein in her neck throbbing.

“Got no problem killing her mother, though.” Bronn’s voice sounded behind Sansa. “Aren’t you a peach?”

How long had he been standing there? Sansa didn’t dare look to see if Gyles was with him. Sansa watched Cersei’s eyes flicking to either side of her and took that as confirmation that she’d been flanked by both.

“This is a private party,” Cersei insisted. “You may have noticed.”

“Sorry, Toots,” Bronn yawned.

Did he actually just yawn? Did he really dare boredom at a crucial time like this?

He tilted his head and cracked his neck. “You see, I’m getting paid a pretty penny to stand by the Missus.” Sansa wondered if he would ever protect her without some sort of compensation. For a man that was practically family, he still cashed in like he wasn’t. He continued, “Besides, I can see things getting pretty interesting, really soon.”

Not bothering to argue, Cersei pulled her own phone out and typed as she assured Sansa, “I’ll have Myrcella check on her.”

Sansa had been watching Dany curse at her phone when she asked, “You brought Myrcella here?”

“Of course she did.” Dany looked up, smirking. “You don’t think she’d let her only living child far from her side, do you?”

Sansa ignored Dany’s bait, and instead thought of Bronn’s words. He was extremely experienced in situations like these. If he said that he thought something ‘interesting’ was going to happen, it wasn’t something to ignore. She called over her shoulder. “Bronn, why do you say that?”

Sansa saw his hand out of the corner of her eye as he pointed to Dany. “If her bloke isn’t answering, then maybe yours got to him first.”

The look in Petyr’s eyes as they parted fashed in her memory. She’d taken Bronn as a defensive measure, but he’d gone with Oberyn, someone who was decidedly offensive when it came to Lannisters. Perhaps he had gotten to Jorah. If he had, did that mean Elenei was free? Where was Jaime in all this?

Dany’s face flushed, her knuckles turning white. Cersei looked up from her phone, her expression less than smug. Something was wrong. “What is it?” Sansa asked. “Is she alright?”

Cersei stared at her trying to decide how much to say.

Sansa barked, “Tell me!”

“Myrcella says that she’s gone.”

“Gone?” Sansa gasped.

“So is Jaime. She didn’t see either of them.”

She may still be alive.

Tears of relief rolled down Sansa’s cheeks. Elenei wasn’t dead. She was gone, not dead. There was a difference. Cersei hadn’t mentioned Petyr either, which gave Sansa hope for his safety as well.

“What about Jorah?” Dany asked.

“Dead.”

Dany groaned, “Ugh. He was so useless.”

If neither woman had Elenei, Sansa didn’t need them alive anymore. Her thumb come up to cock the gun, but stopped when a shot fired and a chunk of wood in the crate beside her flew off and hit her calf.

“Missed,” Bronn helpfully pointed out.

Sansa ignored the pain in her leg, knowing it would bruise terribly later and looked to the shot’s point of origin.

It was Jaime.

Not seeing any difference between Jaime Lannister and a nameless vagrant, Bronn shrugged as he said, “But to be fair, I bet it’s hard with the hand.”

Jaime puffed his chest out and grinned. “I do alright.”

Cersei smiled proudly at her husband. “Looks like the odds are evening, Little Dove.”

“Where’s Elenei?”

Jaime turned to Sansa, his expression impassive as he answered, “Baelish has her.”

The air actually hurt her lungs as she gasped it in, so crisp and sharp. Dizzy from the oxygen overload, her eyelids fluttered away the tears that followed. “Oh thank god!” Her mind shut to the still present threat around her as she pictured Petyr scooping up Elenei and wrapping protective arms around her.

“Can anyone do anything right?!” Dany yelled.

“Daddy!”

Out of nowhere, Myrcella bounded past Sansa. The same young woman who’d caught Jon and had two sadistic bodyguards beat him, suddenly looked so much like the nervous girl who made Elenei a Lion King blanket for her baby shower a few years prior. The young godmother chosen by politics, dropped all her defenses running to her father. Her obvious need for family took precedence over any appearance of power and control. “You weren’t by the office, like we planned. I was worried.”

“I’m alright, My-Cella,” he smiled. It was empty and wrought with effort, but he at least attempted reassurance.

Sansa glanced to Cersei who had been eyeing her already. Her expression was unreadable, and she wondered what went on in the lioness’s head. Not so lost and caught up in the family moment, Cersei had to have been planning her next move. Would she continue her fight or retreat? Tension was thick in the air and Sansa’s legs shook ready to bolt if necessary. With Elenei and Petyr alright, anything could happen, the touching Lannister family moment could turn at any moment. Sansa didn’t dare eye her exits, knowing Cersei was watching.

“BORING!” Dany screamed, raising her gun. She popped a shot off before Sansa even had a chance to see where she aimed.

Myrcella went limp and fell into her father, the back of her head stained with the blood that poured from the fresh crater in her skull. Dany’s sick cackle sounded far off in the drowning pound of Sansa’s temples. Her voice so muted as she exclaimed, “I got a full set!”

Jaime gaped down at his lifeless daughter, staggering back as he held her body up. His strangled cry ripped at Sansa’s heart and any questions she had lost their relevance. There was no discussion, no second guessing. Whatever Dany’s reason for going after Myrcella and severing the only powerful connection she had in the city, it didn’t matter. Sansa couldn’t be bothered to ask why she’d destroy someone so beautiful. There was so much promise in Myrcella, and she mattered to Sansa, in a way she couldn’t explain.

Sansa never thought about it before she did it, simply closed her eyes, raised her pistol and fired. It echoed unnaturally, and it made her look. Dany sank to her knees, sporting two bullet wounds, though Sansa only recalled firing the once.

Cersei stood opposite Sansa, her arm extended, golden gun still in position. She was the perfect mirror image of Sansa, only her head turned away, still eyeing Dany. There was no visible pleasure taken by Cersei in watching Myrcella’s murderer die. Slowly, she dragged her gaze up from Dany’s heart to her forehead, to Sansa’s handwork.

Jaime held Myrcella on the floor, clutching her to his chest as they sat in a puddle of blood and tears. He stroked her hair as if she were a small child again. Familiar cologne filled Sansa’s nostrils and she knew without question that Petyr was beside her watching a fellow father grieve the loss of the only child he had left.

Her body eased at his presence, finally feeling as though the ground beneath her feet were solid again. If he was there, Elenei was safe, she was certain. She could feel his eyes on her and she wanted to turn and hold him close, but knew it wasn’t the time or place. Too much was going on for her to allow such comfort. Just knowing he was there would have to be enough. After all, it was more than she’d had moments before.

No one spoke or dared take their eyes off either Cersei or Jaime to look around. Breaking the spell, the Lannister queen slowly turned her head. Her eyes followed Sansa’s own arm, realization skittering through her brain. She lowered her gun and the corner of her mouth twitched. “Great minds think alike, huh, Little Dove?”

She was sick. Anyone could see that. There was no way Cersei would be able to speak so lightly with her family crumbling to nothing on the floor beside her, unless she was unhinged. It was still strange to see not a single tear shed from a mother over the death of her child.

As upsetting as it may have been for Cersei to believe Sansa responsible for the murder of her boys, it seemed equally disturbing to her to see Sansa defend her daughter. Her mouth opened to say something but quickly closed when Oberyn’s gun raised. “It hurts to lose family, doesn’t it? _Lannister._ ”

He spoke the name as if it were a curse, vile in his mouth. Sansa looked to Petyr, who looked back at her. There was a touch of sympathy in his eyes, though they mostly guaranteed the mettle to do whatever necessary. Any fantasy Sansa may have had about both families coming out of this alive and going to church together on Sunday was dispelled. Not that she’d ever seriously thought that a possibility, but she hadn’t fully considered the reality of a world without Cersei in it either.

“The difference between you and I, Martell.” Cersei lowered her gun and stared at Sansa as she spoke to Oberyn. “Is that you hid away and sat on your ass, moaning and groaning over your dead sister, and I refuse to be so pathetic.”

Oberyn took a step forward, pulling the slide back to cock his gun as he did.

“No!” Sansa screamed and stood in front of him.

“ _Sansa!_ ” Petyr grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“Stop him!” Sansa barked to Bronn. Petyr wrestled her limbs, grabbing her face in his hands and pressing his forehead to hers in a desperate attempt to calm her and keep her out of danger.  

Without hesitation, Bronn took her place in front of Oberyn. “Back up, Don Juan. Looks like Golden Snatch takes issue with you killing her girlfriend.”

“ _Sansa,_ ” Petyr appealed. “You have to let her go.”

She shook her head against his. _“No.”_

“What’s the matter, Little Dove? Lose your nerve?”

Sansa ignored her taunting, and whispered, “Oberyn can’t have her.”

It was his turn to shake his head. “Sansa, no.”

“She’s mine.” Her lips tickled against his.

Petyr said nothing, and in the silence that followed Oberyn growled his frustration before charging at Bronn. The hitman disabled him instantly and broke his arm in the process, clucking his teeth as he judged, “Not smart.”

Oberyn yelped and held his arm to his chest, cursing Bronn with obscenities Sansa couldn’t begin to understand. Jaime sat oblivious to the commotion around him, still sobbing into Myrcella’s face, slack and devoid of life.

For the first time since it happened, Cersei looked over to what was left of her family, and commanded, “Get up.”

Sansa watched Jaime rock back and forth, refusing to let go of his daughter. Cersei glanced nervously from person to person, her demand more insistent. “Come on, Baby. Get up. I need you now.”

Jaime trembled, his words unintelligible. Cersei took a side step towards him and hissed, “Get up! Right now. Pick up your gun, and finish this with me.”

Anyone could see that Jaime had completely broken. All the fight was taken from him where he sat rooted to the floor holding the body of his last living child. Cersei refused to see it, her voice growing sterner. “Jaime! Get your ass up right now!”

Sansa wasn’t sure he’d even heard her, his eyelids clenched shut in the sobs that wracked his body. His hand gripped and massaged clumps of Myrcella’s hair, as if feeling her in his hands made the loss of her somehow more bearable. In the short time Sansa worried that something may have happened to Elenei, the pain she experienced was overwhelming. She simply couldn’t imagine the heartache that crippled Jamie, or why Cersei didn’t seem to share the burden. “He can’t, Cers.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed at her. Rancor poured from her lips, “ _What?_ ”

Sansa left her gun down by her side and used her other hand to point to Jaime. “Look at him. He just can’t.”

She didn’t immediately turn to Jaime as Sansa had expected, but instead simply drew a deep breath. Cersei straightened the lines of her dress and looked down at the gun in her hand. Sansa could feel Petyr tense behind her and it sent the nerves in her stomach off like a set of fireworks. Cersei’s voice was controlled as she explained, “I’m going to need a moment.”

Sansa glanced to Petyr, who remained frustratingly silent. Not knowing her husband’s next move made her palms sweat. She almost jumped when Cersei lifted her head and began to turn, so on edge. Everyone’s gun raised to follow the Lannister queen’s movement.

Cersei stopped and glared back at them, turning the severity of her focus more to Petyr. “Or are you that scared of me, Baelish, that you won’t allow a wife a private moment with her husband?”

Sansa knew Petyr was too smart to fall for a challenge like that, and worried he would stand his ground. He must have seen something in her face, however, because he slowly raised his palm in the air, signalling their men to lower their weapons. Sansa listened to the shift of bodies and firearms behind her, watching Cersei continue her stride over to Jaime. She crouched at his side, her voice soft as she said, “ _Jaime._ Look at me, Jaime.”

His face was swollen from the effort of his grief, his eyes sealed closed with the glue of salty tears. He quieted only slightly. Petyr pulled Sansa back against him, his arm resting around her belly. It felt more for comfort than protection, though she wondered if it was for his benefit rather than hers. Either way, it was exactly the bracing she needed. “Varys and Brune have Elenei,” he whispered in her ear.

She knew she was safe. Petyr wouldn’t be so calm if she wasn’t. That didn’t mean actually hearing it said aloud wasn’t deeply soothing. Remembering to stay present in the moment, she nodded before craning her neck to hear Cersei’s private words to Jaime. “Come on, Baby. I’m right here.” She set her gun down beside them, removing any threat she may have posed as she inched closer, drawing him into her arms and accepting his hold on Myrcella. Her fingers touched to her daughter’s matted scalp, her voice catching as she admitted, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Jaime’s eyelids cracked open, his vision blurred. Cersei pulled his head to her shoulder and ran her fingers through his hair, kissing his temple and smiling against his forehead. Her voice was careful as she asked, “Do you remember what I said to you when we first met? All I ever wanted in life?”

He sniffed into her. Not accepting that as an answer, she insisted, “Tell me.”

Jaime breathed, “Money, champ-champagne, and a hard ccc-” His voice warbled as he finished, “Cock between your legs.”

Cersei closed her eyes and chuckled. “Yes. That’s it.” Her smile was sadder than any frown Sansa had ever seen. “You’ve definitely given me that and so much more.” Her hand stroked over Myrcella’s back as she spoke into Jaime’s hair. “Three beautiful babies…”

Sansa’s hand tightened over Petyr’s, a lump growing in her throat. She glanced to either side of her, seeing Gyles, Bronn, and an injured Oberyn. However pissed off he was, even he appeared entranced by the Lannister’s intimate moment. It was probably their last ever, and they had an audience to bear witness to it. Sansa had no idea what would come next, though judging by the way things were going, they’d both soon meet their end by Baelish family guns. It seemed inappropriate to take out Jaime, him being so severely disabled. Though, it wasn’t as if he could be allowed to live. Neither could Cersei, and though the idea of killing her hurt Sansa, at least the woman was of sounder mind for the occasion.

Sansa had never thought the day would come that she considered Cersei more stable than Jaime--or anyone for that matter. That was even before she lost her children. Once she had, the no-holds-barred nature with which Cersei approached things only intensified.

Jaime’s head moved against her shoulder before it lifted up to peer around them. His eyes didn’t land on any one person, but instead took in the danger that circled them. All the vitality he’d been so well-known for had drained from his face as he turned to look back at his wife. His gravelly throat was barely able to scratch out the words, “ _Ride or die._ ”

Cersei’s eyes clenched shut, a single tear spilling out over the side and falling on her chest as she nodded. “I know, Baby. I promise.” She took advantage of his face hovering in front of hers and pulled him into a haphazard embrace. Her kiss was messy and he coughed in surprise, moving where her arm around his neck dictated. Allowing her possession of him as she poured every ounce of her passion into him, he did not sway when she lay her palm flat against his chest to better brace each other for the depth of their kiss.

Slowly, their lips broke and she rest her cheek against his as she praised, “My magnificent husband.”

Jaime said nothing in return, his cries all cried. He’d become nothing more than a shell of a person, crumpled on the floor amidst the two women he loved, one dead and one soon to be. Cersei stroked his chest again as she cooed into his ear, “I give you peace.”

Sansa didn’t think she’d heard her right. Petyr tensed behind her again, his arm tightening and locking in place as they watched Cersei’s hand drop from Jaime’s chest and fly to the pistol on the ground beside her. Completely ignoring the deadly crowd surrounding her, Cersei jammed the barrel of the gun under Jaime’s chin and turned her head away in one quick fluid motion. Her bloodshot eyes stared off, seeking distance as she squeezed the trigger.

 

 

 


	24. Best Bitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was an anomaly in this world of cutthroats and backstabbers.

As if frozen in time, everyone from Lefford to Glover stood still. All gunfire had ceased, as did the exclaims of both pain and the pleasure taken in inflicting it. Sansa absently wondered when that had happened, when word of the fallen patriarch reached the other end of the warehouse and temporarily halted hostilities. 

She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know that both loyal sides had gathered behind them, watching Cersei sit motionless, holding her husband in her arms. She alone was what remained of the Lannister line, and therefore it all came down to her. Anyone seeing just how severely outnumbered she was, would assume her immediate retreat before begging a quick death. Though, Sansa didn’t think Cersei--however compromised--was capable of doing anything other than fighting tooth and nail to the bitter end. 

Petyr squeezed Sansa’s hip, imploring her to look at him. She shook her head, refusing to take her eyes off of the scene. He would be wanting to plan the next move. Any other time she would have turned in his arms and allowed her eyes to meet his, an entire conversation free to take place between husband and wife, between two bosses with a city to run. 

This, however, wasn’t any other time. Neither was it business as usual. It was Cersei. How could Sansa possibly agree on the best course of action, when Cersei’s very nature was reckless? With her entire family dead, there was no telling what she would do next. She was just as likely to raise her gun and fire random shots into the crowd around her as she was to pull the trigger under her own chin. Her grief left everyone at the mercy of random chance. 

Having grown so accustomed to the thick silence, Sansa startled a little when she heard a low whisper emit from Cersei’s lips. “Soon, we will ride together again.”

Her fingers worked the buttons on her blazer, keeping Jaime’s head to her chest as she devested herself of the garment. Carefully, she lowered him down to the ground, bunching up the jacket for him to lay his head on. Sansa wiped away a rogue tear as she realized that even in death, Jaime held Myrcella, his arms never falling from her. Cersei preserved their position, guiding Myrcella down to rest on him. Sansa swallowed back a lump in her throat, watching a mother’s nimble fingers brush golden strands of hair out of her daughter’s face and set them gently over her shoulder. For the last time. 

Her voice was hushed with a distinct note of pride in it. “My strongest. It had to be a cheap shot--only way she could have gotten you. My perfect girl.”  

Petyr’s hand moved to Sansa’s back, soothing the tension they both felt as they watched Cersei gradually rise up and leave her family’s lifeless bodies where she allowed them to rest. She didn’t look at the crowd that had gathered. Instead, she focused on brushing off the grit and grime that clung to her legs and the back of her dress. 

When she finished, gun still in hand, she glanced over to Dany’s body twenty yards away. It was only then that she looked up, zeroing in on Sansa as she said, “Count.” 

Petyr’s hand moved back down to Sansa’s hip, his grip tightening protectively at the sudden attention. Sansa barely noticed, too entranced by Cersei’s sudden intensity, unsure she heard her right. The single word command was so abrupt and without context. Before she could ask, Cersei turned on her heel and trudged towards the corpse. She came to a stop at her side and crouched down, shamelessly rummaging through her purse. 

What could Dany possibly have that Cersei would want?

Sansa leaned forward, for the first time feeling impeded by Petyr’s hold. She shot him an irritated look and silently pushed against his arm again. He locked it in place and quietly plead in her ear, “No. Stay.”

There was a vulnerability in his voice that warned her not to look in his eyes. He had to know--had to fear, whatever Cersei had planned. Even if she had no chance at winning this battle, like Dany, Cersei wasn’t exactly a stranger to unfair advantages. 

Sansa didn’t have to war with herself long, her curiosity abated when she saw Cersei’s arm raise, a golden locket shimmering in the light. Her voice was hard as she accused, “You rotten cunt. You hated her  _ that much _ , that you dared take this from me. As if murdering my children wasn’t enough.” She set the gold plated gun on the dead woman’s chest, freeing both hands to don the locket. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice it was gone? Twenty-five years, I’ve carried this.” She spit at Dany’s face and picked the gun back up before rising. 

“This is for the audacity.” BANG

Sansa jumped in Petyr’s arms, not expecting her to shoot a dead woman. 

“I already gave you one for Myrcella, perhaps the most important one. Though, I’ll give you two more for good measure.” 

BANG 

BANG

“That’s three, Little Dove. Are you counting?” Cersei asked, staring down at Dany’s body. 

Sansa swallowed, nodding her head. 

“Are you?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” The word fell weakly from her mouth.

“Excellent.” Cersei took a deep breath and then smiled sickly. “What say we give her a new smile?” 

Not waiting for any response, Cersei opened fire. 

BANG

Chunks of flesh and blood splattered.

BANG

Teeth broke and flew.

BANG

Unable to see the next loose bit to follow, Sansa glanced over to Oberyn. To his credit, if he was surprised by how easily Cersei defiled a corpse, he didn't show it. Likewise, if he was disgusted by it, he kept that to himself as well. His typically lively demeanor was replaced with an unreadable stoicism. 

“That was for my Joffrey, and your sadistic sense of humor.” 

Petyr raised his free hand to the Royce brothers, and Sansa noticed for the first time just how messy Pretty Boy had gotten, baseball bat dripping from his shoulder. Vegas nodded his head to Petyr and then gripped his brother. Sansa wasn’t sure what that was about, but wouldn’t be surprised if the carnage was exciting him. 

Cersei walked around to Dany’s other side and tilted her head. “For Tommen, my baby.” 

BANG

The shot sunk deep into Dany’s belly. 

BANG

Sansa watched the fabric over her abdomen burst open. 

BANG

Dead, tepid blood, oozed to either side and gathered in a puddle beneath Dany.

Cersei raised the gun, pointing it down to her heart, where the very first bullet had landed. “And this, is for my love and the life we had together.” 

BANG, BANG, BANG

Each bullet drove into the one prior, all sharply lodged into the beatless blackened heart that used keep Dany alive.

“How many?” Cersei called back over her shoulder. 

Sansa furrowed her brow, trying to think. She’d been so captivated by the mutilation that she’d lost count. “Twelve,” Petyr whispered in her ear.

“Tw-” Sansa cleared the frog from her throat and tried to speak again, “Twelve.” 

“Twelve plus the shot that put the bitch down in the first place, is thirteen.” Cersei turned around slowly, stepping away from Dany’s body. “Add the bullet I used for my husband. Brings us to fourteen.” 

She had already looked so pale and sickly under the lights when Sansa first laid eyes on her, but after the death of Myrcella and Jaime, she looked even more so. Her lips were no longer pink, but instead an almost perfect ivory match to her cheeks and chin. Her hair had lost its luster, turning to a stringy yellow hay color. Even the green in her eyes had somehow faded, losing their sparkle and taking on a more filmy look. 

Cersei held her gun up, the golden lion handle glinting. “It’s dressed up, but underneath all the design, it’s still a Beretta 92FS. So you tell me, how many rounds do I have left?” 

“One. Clips in the ninety series carry fifteen,” Sansa answered automatically.

“Unless she had one chambered to start,” Bronn interjected, raising his voice for Cersei to hear as he looked at both Petyr and Sansa. 

Cersei laughed. “You’re good.”

Before anyone could say anything else, she turned and fired her gun down to her side, another bullet hole in the floor to add to the many created that night. “Now, I have either one  _ or none _ .” 

“I’d prefer you have none,” Petyr rumbled over Sansa’s shoulder. 

Cersei looked Sansa up and down before responding to Petyr. “I can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same if I were in your shoes. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. This is between Sansa and I.” She turned her attention back to Sansa. “Isn’t it, Little Dove?”

“It is.” The words came out before she could even consider them. The truth so frustratingly unconscious.

“ _ No, _ ” Petyr growled, pulling her back against him.

Part of Sansa tried to validate her immediate response, wanting to point out that he was thinking more like her husband and less like a boss. She was just as much head to the Baelish crime family as he was, and it was only right that she go toe to toe with her equal opposition. No one would respect a queen unwilling to defend her crown. Were he thinking with more than his heart, he would agree that her willingness to rise to the challenge only strengthened their hold of the city. Of course, there was more to her decision than just the pragmatic, and Petyr knew her well enough to sense that. 

Indifferent to Sansa’s internal struggle to understand her own feelings in the matter, Cersei rolled her eyes and groaned, “It’s one bullet, Baelish! Maybe not even that. Odds being fifty-fifty and all.”

“One bullet can cause a lot of damage. As you well know.” Petyr nodded his head towards the bodies behind her.

The more he included himself, speaking to Cersei directly, the more it felt like some sort of strange violation. Cersei was right when she said it was between the two of them. For as much as Petyr meant to Sansa, and as much stake as he had in this war, he didn’t belong in this with her. Not now. Not in the final hour. 

Cersei sighed and started rummaging through her purse. She pulled out a small vial, unscrewed the cap with one hand and put it under her nose. 

“Don’t do that,” Sansa said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. “You don’t need to do that.” 

Cersei shrugged her shoulders. “Only way to stop the shakes.” 

“That’s shock. It’s normal.” 

“Either way,” she answered before inhaling deeply. Her head lolled back and her eyelids fluttered at the hit to her system. When she lifted her head up, a speck of blood dripped from her nose and she wiped it away with the back of her hand so routinely it seemed like something she’d been doing a lot of lately. Sansa knew it was, but actually seeing it confirmed for her very own eyes was so much more upsetting.

Ignoring Sansa’s obvious judgement, Cersei pulled her cigarette case out of her bag next and popped a cigarette in her mouth. She spoke around it as she fished for her lighter. “What do you say, Little Dove? Time for all good things to come to an end?” 

Petyr’s fingers dug into her belly and she reached down to pry herself free from his hold. She stifled his protest by giving his hand a reassuring squeeze and then turned to Cersei. “You can’t hope to get out of here alive, whether you kill me or not.” 

Cersei inhaled, shaking her head. “Oh, no.” She took her time exhaling before she explained, “I don’t hope to live anymore. Haven’t for a while.” 

“Then just give up.” 

She made a show of slapping her dress as if searching for something. “Funny, I don’t seem to have a white flag on me. I always found them too tacky an accessory to carry.”

Grasping at straws, Sansa warned, “You know my aim is better than yours.” 

“I know,” she solemnly replied. “Care to give me a sporting chance?” 

Though Petyr hadn’t said anything, Sansa could feel the,  _ No, _ emanating off of him behind her. She closed her eyes and steeled herself for the discontent she was about to bring to their marriage. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she forced the words out of her mouth. “What did you have in mind?” 

Cersei’s smile was genuine and gave her face a flicker of life. It was beautiful and stole most of Sansa’s attention, competing only with the guilt she suffered at hearing the low growl behind her and the sigh of, “Oh fuck,” from Bronn immediately after. 

She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Petyr. Whatever wrath she wrought for this, it was worth it. Cersei had been her friend; a real, true-blue, _ friend _ . She was an anomaly in this world of cutthroats and backstabbers, and though Sansa would never be able to explain it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed her this moment.

Besides, if the past couple of months had taught her nothing, it was that her marriage to Petyr would survive anything.  _ Not death, you idiot! _ A little voice in the back of her head chastised her.

She reached her hand back and felt for Petyr’s. His fingers intertwined with hers and when she gave him a squeeze, he returned the gesture without hesitation. They would be fine. She had to believe that--little voice or no.

“Let’s play a game.” Cersei flashed her a mischievous grin and then teased, “Or is that something you only get off on with Baelish?”

“What was it you were saying about cheap shots and strong people?” Sansa used Cersei’s private moment with her dead daughter against her in retaliation for her using knowledge she'd gained about Sansa during the course of their friendship. Nothing felt sacred anymore, and she had to wonder if it ever was. Not willing to fall down that rabbit hole, Sansa refocused. “What game?”

“Well, seeing as how I lack a full clip,” Cersei pointed out, waving her gun up in the air. “And, you’re the better aim...I say we play Blind One-Shot.”

Gyles screwed his face up in disbelief and mouthed to his father,  _ Blind One-Shot? _

Gerald whispered, “Old game, like Chicken. Lights out, done entirely by sound. One bullet per person, one chance to shoot. Waste it and you could be dead. It’s childish and suicidal.”

“Or disappointing,” Bronn shrugged beside him. 

Both Graftons turned to look at him, wearing matching expressions of irritation and curiosity. Bronn held his hand up. “What if both birds miss? Then you got both people standing there-- _ not dead _ , asking ‘best two out of three?’ It’s fucking disappointing.”

“We can always switch to blades if we waste our shots,” Cersei answered quickly. When all heads lifted, she tapped her ear and chuckled. “Mothers’ ears hear even the lowest of whispers.”

Sansa stifled a groan. Apparently, the game Cersei proposed actually gave her an advantage; one not had by most. Glancing to the captive audience around them, Sansa raised her gun in the air and released the clip into her other hand. One by one, her thumb pushed bullet after bullet free from the clip.

Petyr grabbed her and snarled loudly, “ _ No! _ ” 

She turned in his arms and looked deeply into his eyes. Fluttering her eyelashes and softening her lips, she willed him to close his eyes and kiss her. So well trained to their intimacy, his hands moved to her cheeks, holding her face as he poured affection from his mouth to hers. She gave a gentle moan at the voracity of his kiss, feeling herself become weightless in his desperate adoration. There was power in man’s love for his woman, and he so obviously wanted that to succeed where his words had not. 

Their heads tilted to each direction, matching the other, his fingertips digging into the hair at the base of her skull, cradling her to him. Wrapped up enough to lose the world around them, but not so much as to forget what lay ahead, Sansa’s persistent thumb continued to push bullets from the clip at her side. The low tinkling chime of brass and copper clinking off the concrete floor below was a subtle sound, though not subtle enough it would seem. 

Petyr tore his lips from hers, his eyes alight with fury and fear. 

“Touching,” Cersei commented from around her cigarette, rolling her eyes as she did. 

Sansa scowled at her and hissed, again using her words against her, “Will you not allow a wife a moment with her husband?” Feeling the pieces of her gun fill her palms, and hating the strain it was putting on her relationship with Petyr, anger rolled through her. It was with that low broiling rage, that Sansa tilted her head and gave her a menacing grin. “Or are  _ you _ that scared of _ me _ ?” 

“That’s my girl!” Cersei cackled and waved her hand for them to commence as she turned and took two steps to the left toward a Marbrand. Sansa watched her toss a full clip to one of them and barely heard her instruct them to shove it up Dany’s ass so that when they ‘incinerate the bitch’ she’d blow up from the inside-out.

Trying to ignore the morbidity of Cersei’s instruction, Sansa closed her eyes and turned back to Petyr, resting her forehead against his chin as she worked to calm the heat of her anger. “It’s alright,” she whispered, more to herself than him. 

“You have a guarantee that I don’t know about?” He argued, giving her a peck of a kiss. 

“I do.” 

His hands moved to her back, pulling her closer. “I’m all ears.”

So was Cersei. Though, it wasn’t anything the woman didn’t already know. “The odds, Petyr. They’re stacked to our favor. She said it herself, she doesn’t want to live. She’s either got absolutely no bullets at all, or just the one. My aim is better and I’m not high as a kite and still in shock from losing my whole family.”

“ _ High as a kite _ \--fuck, I wish I could still get that high,” Cersei gibed.  

Sansa exhaled, trying desperately not to take the bait, and praying Petyr wouldn’t either. 

Luckily, he didn’t this time. Instead, he sighed resignedly into her hair and she knew he was listening more than he wanted to. “She’s not fit for this,” Sansa insisted. “I am.” 

“It’s still a risk.” 

“What isn’t?” 

There was a pregnant pause and she felt each strand of hair on her head move with how deeply he was breathing and contemplating his next answer. “Fine,” he fumed, lifting her chin up to look him in the eye. 

“Fine?” That was it?

“Yes.” He slowly rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and as he looked up he admitted, “Only because of the odds.” 

Sansa followed his eyes, seeing only bright halogen lights and rafters, not quite sure what he was getting at, at first. And then it dawned on her,  _ Alys _ . 

Sansa shook her head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“This is between her and I. Only.”

Petyr’s lips thinned. “I don’t see it that way.” 

Sansa pulled from him and raised both her gun and the clip in the air for everyone to see. Her eyes stayed with his as she called out, her voice filling the warehouse. “One bullet. Blind One-Shot. Clear out.” 

When no one moved, Sansa yelled, “It’s not a spectator sport!  _ Leave! _ ” 

Petyr’s glare eclipsed the low murmur of the crowd. 

“I’m flattered you want me all to yourself, Little Dove.” Cersei tossed her cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it before she slid her shoes off. She nodded towards Sansa’s bare feet and said, “Fair is fair.” 

Bodies shifted, though only half of them (the northern half, specifically) shrunk back out of sight. Sansa slapped the clip back into her gun and promised Petyr, “I will  _ break _ anyone who’s bullet or blade hits her before mine.” 

“It wouldn't be the first time you’ve broken me.”

That was not fair. 

The look she gave him said as much. He leaned in and kissed her forehead one last time before he stepped away and called out, “Move back!”

Sansa glanced to her side, expecting to see another snarky response from Bronn. The hitman was nowhere to be found. Judging by how long it was taking the crowd to move, Bronn had made his exit before Petyr sanctioned everyone’s retreat. Alys was a Karstark and would have stood down when Sansa ordered it--possibly. Bronn on the other hand, worked for the highest bidder, and Sansa knew Petyr would spare no expense to ensure his wife’s safety. Was Bronn wielding the Ingstal even now?

The grey-green pools of Petyr’s eyes shimmered with emotion as even he eventually receded, however reluctantly. 

“Looks like we got our wish,” Cersei teased. 

Sansa lifted her chin. “Count of ten?” 

“Best make it five,” Cersei corrected. “Don’t want things to drag on, do we?” 

Sansa fought the urge to point out that they had been already. “Guns up.” 

Cersei pointed her gun to the ceiling, holding it by her head in a perfect mirror of Sansa. “Anyone going to get the lights for us?”

“Lights!” Sansa shouted.

There was no pause or delay that would indicate people weren’t right there, waiting to interfere. So quickly had the lights gone out that Sansa hesitated before bolting to her left as she counted in her head,  _ One vel-oci-raptor, two vel-oci-raptor… _

Sansa’s feet sprinted silently in the dark, her free hand pushed forward to feel for any unseen obstacle.  _ Three vel-oci-raptor. _

She knew Elenei was safe, but this dangerous game of hide and seek only made Sansa ache to see her daughter more. The sound of something crashing far off in the distance reminded her of Cersei and the agony she suffered over her own daughter, and the boys before her. 

_ Four vel-oci-raptor. _

The emergency flood lights lining the warehouse walls were spaced far enough away from each other to leave shadows in between and didn’t reach the center of the floor. It was dark enough to hide, but not too dark to get accustomed to.  _ Five vel-oci-raptor _ . “Here,” she said evenly and then jumped back two steps and slinked behind a nearby box she felt, so that she definitely wouldn’t be where she just said she was.

“Here,” Cersei’s voice sounded in the distance. 

Silence surrounded them as Sansa controlled her breathing. It was serious now, not that it hadn’t been from the very start. The lights were out, the guns were up, and with each deep inhalation, her rib cage expanded against the blade she kept on her, reminding her of its existence. Sansa squeezed her thighs together, feeling the comforting bulge of the fully loaded glock she’d strapped on back in the car. 

Perhaps if Petyr hadn’t been arguing with her over whether or not she was welcome to come retrieve their daughter, he would have noticed how thoroughly she’d been preparing herself to face the Lannister Queen. Maybe he wouldn’t have put up such resistance when she started pushing bullets from her clip. Was he watching her now? He’d need night vision goggles, though knowing him, he probably already had a pair in hand. Would he call out if Cersei got too close, or would he shoot first? 

She had to get out of her own head and focus. That was the only way to end this. Cersei’s voice echoed through the warehouse. “This is magical, Little Dove. Don’t you think?”

Sansa turned her head, peering around the crate and squinting her eyes. When she didn’t answer, Cersei continued, “We’ve got our mood lighting.”

Cersei knew talking gave clues, made a person lose. She had asked for a ‘sporting chance’ and here she was ruining it with meaningless chit-chat. Sansa refused to bite.

“I mean, we’re making mob history here, aren’t we?” 

Sansa tiptoed a couple of steps ahead, wondering what she was getting at. Mob history? This wasn’t about any of that. This was two women running around barefoot in the dark with deadly weapons, intent to use them on each other because they couldn’t play well together in the sandbox anymore. Entire families had been called in, people had died protecting them. How could she possibly be so crass about it? 

“Two great families--houses if we were in one of Jaime’s silly fantasy books--battling for territory.”

Because she was Cersei Lannister, that’s how. Having not talked to her friend in so long, outside of threats and ridicule, Sansa allowed herself to forget just how fucking spoiled she could be. Righteous indignation prickled her palms as she shouted out, “A game of Blind One-Shot is  _ hardly _ a battle!”

Cersei laughed in the distance, though a little closer than she’d heard her before. Sansa found another crate to crouch behind quickly. That was stupid and she knew it.

“Not how you imagined the Baelishes would take over the Lannisters?” Cersei’s voice teased in the darkness. “You think it’ll feel like less of a victory now? Does it tarnish it for you?”

Sansa said nothing, just kept moving. 

“Good. I don’t want you to bask in the glow of my death.” 

As if she could. Cersei would know that. She was just being cruel. 

“But also, don’t mope either.” Sansa could almost hear her roll her eyes as she said, “It’s ugly and gives you frown wrinkles, which lead to jowls.” 

Sansa rolled her own eyes. 

There was a smile in Cersei’s voice as she added, “And you know how I feel about English Bulldogs.” 

It could have been attributed to nerves, though Cersei’s sense of humor felt too natural for Sansa not to respond. She chuckled before she could stop herself and she hated her for making her laugh at a moment like that.

Regardless of the fact that Cersei never heard any evidence to suggest Sansa’s resentment, her words grew somber, as if she somehow knew. “It’s all quite underwhelming when you admit what it really is: best friends breaking up.”

So she did realize. Somewhere in her drug-addled mind, she understood all that had been lost. Sansa pursed her lips as she spoke into the darkness, “You shouldn’t have betrayed me.” 

There was no witty comeback, no banter. Again Sansa spoke through the heavy silence, “You should have believed me.”

“I did.” Cersei sounded so small.  

Sansa wasn’t sure she heard her right. After all the nasty calls, all the scathing text messages, she believed Sansa when she told her she wasn’t responsible for killing her children? Suddenly not caring about cover, Sansa roared, “WHAT?!” 

“Remember when you miscarried?” 

Her blood-soaked bedroom flashed in her mind, sheer terror electrifying her body as she sprang into action, fighting with everything inside herself to save the life that had already been lost. It was a terrible memory to evoke and Sansa’s fist balled ready to punch Cersei in the face for mentioning it. She’d never felt so completely helpless in her adult life and drinking with Arya and Jon in Wolfswood, wrapped in her wolf’s pelt didn’t do much to fill the empty that ate her over it.

“Amplify that by a million. That’s what it felt like when Tommen died.” Cersei’s voice was thick. 

Fuck you. 

Cersei had no right to assert her pain to be any worse than Sansa’s. She was about to say so when Cersei’s voice sounded again, “He was a person. He liked apple jelly on his toast, and had to take swimming lessons over again because he was too scared to put his face under the water the first time.” 

Sansa had only ever known Tommen when he was a teenager. He was always more timid than the other Lannisters, so it was easy to picture him in the light she painted him in. 

“He named his cat ‘ _ Sir _ Pounce’ because he wanted to impress his father. And he didn’t fit in this life, but he loved his family so he raised his gun anyway.” There was a pause before Cersei repeated, “He was a person. I knew him and I lost him. It’s not something you recover from, Little Dove. No amount of love will fix that kind of pain.”

Sansa’s vision blurred listening to a mother’s love for her son. Her mind drifted to Durran sitting in his high chair, excitedly slapping the tray in front of him. So young, and already he was making his preferences known, showing his personality. 

Cersei’s hardened voice cut through Sansa’s thoughts. “Now, go through that again.” 

Sansa wiped the tears from her eyes before they dared to fall. 

“Jaime and I were so young and free together when we had Joffrey. So on top of the world, above everything, even discipline and child-rearing. We spoiled him, I know. But he was still my sweet boy, my first boy. He would lift up couch cushions to show Jaime he was strong like him, and rip pretty weeds from the ground to give to me, not knowing the difference between a dandelion or a rose.”

Elenei rushing into the kitchen with a fist full of daisys and dandelions came to mind and Sansa remembered that once upon a time, Joffrey too was little and innocent. 

“He did drugs and screwed random girls, but he never forgot Mother’s Day or my birthday.” There was another pause before Cersei gathered herself enough to explain, “He grew to be a person too. And then he was gone. Before my very own eyes, Little Dove. He was gone. There was no one to blame but myself. I gave him the Ketamine.” 

Memory of Joffrey’s grizzly death, coughing beside her and keeling over to the ground popped into Sansa’s head. “No. You couldn’t have known.” 

Silence filled the air and Sansa wondered if she were all done talking. Suddenly self conscious about how long she’d remained in one place, Sansa called out, “I would have told you that if you hadn’t pushed me away. I would have stood by you.” 

“Bullshit! You left me on my own,” Cersei soured. 

Feeling her face heat, Sansa argued, “I gave you space!”

“No! You shut me out!” Cersei fired her bitterness at her full-force. “I never did that to you! No matter what happened, I still reached out to you.”

Anger rolled through her as she blurted, “Death threats? That’s reaching out?!”

“Yes! And you cut me off like I was nothing to you!” 

“Because you turned on me, you psychotic bitch!”

Sansa vibrated in her rage, willing her body to keep moving, each gingerly placed step grounded her further to banking her fire. There was a long exasperated sigh that came from the far left corner of the warehouse and then Cersei said, “Dr. D says that kids save their worst behavior for their parents because they feel safe with them. I was having trouble coping. You were safe.” Cersei’s voice grew small again as she said, “You weren’t supposed to leave me.” 

Damn, Cersei was sick. Sansa spelled it out for her, knowing she couldn’t see the obvious. “You sided with Dany against me.”

Laughter filled the air.  

“What’s so fucking funny?” When this sick game had started Sansa didn’t know if she was moving closer to, or further away from Cersei. So conflicted was she over the task of killing the only friend she ever truly had. The decision had been made for her, however, and a hot fury drove her toward the familiar sound of smoke damaged lungs and a deviated septum. 

“You. Getting all worked up.”

_ Worked up? _ The vein under her eye started to twitch. 

“Sansa, that bitch was merely a convenience.”  

_ Convenience? _

“You seemed rather close,” Sansa pointed out with as much self control as she could muster. 

“When she came to me, I knew you’d want her. I figured I’d let her play best friend, move into the city, turn me against you and then when we resolved our shit, we’d just finish her together.” Her voice was so light and easy that Sansa couldn’t help but replay the words through her head. There had to be some logical reason for why Cersei sounded so entirely matter-of-fact about something that felt so ridiculously convoluted. She finished in a know-it-all tone, “Which, I might point out,  _ we did! _ ”

Sansa took a couple of deep breaths in a pathetic attempt to center herself. “Let me get this straight. You pushed me away because you were having a tantrum-”

“You’re being dismissive, and I refuse to let myself be treated so poorly.” 

“A  _ tantrum, _ ” Sansa continued through gritted teeth. “In which you intended to recover from and then kill Dany over?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Bullshit. The things you said to me…the messages you left…” 

Sansa knew the silence that followed only further proved her point. Cersei was caught in her inconsistency and whatever answer she had after such a long pause would have lost it’s weight before she even opened her mouth to utter it. 

“I hate that you stopped talking to me.” Such a vulnerable admission without a slew of profanities shielding it, felt strange coming from Cersei. “I’ll say it again: I never shut you out. Not even when I was stuck plotting your death with Dany.” 

“ _ Stuck _ ?” Sansa coughed out incredulously. “It was your choice. This whole thing has been  _ your fucking choice _ !” Memory of Dany’s words seeped into her brain, further poisoning her to Cersei. “Including, apparently, the plan to steal my daughter.” 

Cersei’s exasperated sigh was much too close for comfort. “That was only if Dany succeeded in killing you. And I obviously knew she wouldn’t.”

“Oh you knew that, did you?” Sansa challenged. 

“Yes,” Cersei answered. Her voice hadn’t moved as it had earlier in their conversation. Did she think she found the perfect hiding spot, no longer needing to fear? Or, had she gotten to a point where she simply didn’t care anymore? “I knew because I needed you to succeed.” 

Sansa tempered her surprise. “Oh, you needed me to succeed? Best the girl you befriended?”

“Yes. I needed you to kill her.” 

The simple statement completely slapped Sansa across the face with realization. “You knew! You knew it was her this whole time!” Her stomach turned over on itself. How could a mother know her child’s killer was the woman standing next to her and play nice for so long? 

As quick as she had the thought, memory of the Hound’s grizzled face hovering above her flashed before her eyes. Tension gathered in her neck and shoulders, tightening her posture. The sound of her mother’s murder groaning as he invaded her body, echoed in her ears. Sansa closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, reminding herself,  _ That was another time. Another life. _

She rifled through the hundreds of better, happier memories she’d created with Petyr, trying to bring herself out of the trauma of her past. A small smile quirked the sides of her frown when she thought of Petyr sleeping in the bed they shared, silver templed-hair mussed and disorderly, the scar he wore for her blazing through the patch of salt and pepper hair that she liked to run her fingers mindlessly through. 

“I DID NOT!”

Sansa winced at Cersei’s sudden roar of outrage. 

Her breath shook as she explained, “I  _ did not _ know it was her. I knew it wasn’t you, but I didn’t know it was her.” 

“How could you not?” Sansa spat, frustrated and disgusted at her friend’s stupidity. Cersei had been in this world longer than her. She should have known better. “You knew she was my enemy!” 

“ _ Your _ enemy! Not mine. I didn’t know her from a hole in the wall,” Cersei growled. “Why would I think she would have a vendetta against me or mine?” 

Sansa lost the feeling in her hand, gripping the handle of her gun so tight. “Because she was the only thing that changed you stupid cow! If you rubbed even just two goddamned brain cells together, you’d have realized that we lived in peace for seven fucking years, and then right around the time Tommen died, this bitch shows up?” Spit flew from her lips as she barked, “Tell me that wasn’t a dead giveaway!”

“My brain cells, as you so eloquently put it, weren’t rubbing together, Sansa!” Cersei fought back. “My babies were dying!”

Not taking that excuse for an answer, Sansa ran forward as she screamed, “Oh?! So you couldn’t put the logic into realizing who killed your kids, but you somehow had the mental capacity to concoct an elaborate plan in which you played nice-nice with my enemy, all the while taking your pain out on me--because why again? Oh, that’s right, because I was ‘safe,’ what a load of fucking horseshit.” Sansa’s blood was boiling with the childish teenage thinking her forty-something year old friend operated under. “And then what? As some peace offering, you’d hand her to me on a platter to kill? And also, I might add, you selfish cracked-out bitch, that you didn’t even want me to kill her for _ me _ , but for  _ you _ for some fucking reason I still don’t understand!” 

“ _ Because I needed you alive! _ ” Cersei screeched. “I needed you alive because you’re  _ you  _ god dammit!” 

Her voice sounded closer and Sansa wasn’t sure if Cersei was coming to her, or if she was finding her. “What does that even mean?” 

“It means that I’d only ever let myself be killed by you,” Cersei huffed. “Or Jaime. We promised each other. But as you can see, he needed me to help him.” Her words were thick again as she said, “So I need you to help me.”

“Shuffle off this mortal coil?” Sansa finished with no little amount of contempt. Her suspicions were confirmed when Cersei didn’t respond. “Oh fuck you for that!”

Sansa’s resentment grew in the frustratingly melancholy quiet that followed. “You know what? I don’t need to listen to the flap of your gums to find you.” She sniffed the air dramatically. “I can smell the alcohol seeping from your pores, you walking AA/NA self-help failure!” 

“Uncalled for. I graduated Betty Ford twice.  _ Graduated. _ That’s a success,” Cersei quipped. “Besides, I smell like Dior and you know it.” 

“Stale Sangria--on a good day,” Sansa sneered.

Cersei chuckled, “One: You know I don’t drink that because of the carbs. Two: Can Sangria even get stale?” 

“I hate you!” Sansa yelled, reaching the end of her rope. 

“Hate’s as good as love.” 

Sweat gathered in the small of her back and she switched hands, rubbing her palm against her dress before wiggling the feeling to her fingers again. “Only for a headcase like you.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give,” Cersei chuckled. “Hey, Sansa?” 

She fought the urge to ask what. 

“Are you sure that smell isn’t your own cheap perfume?  _ Take me away, Calgon! _ ” 

Sansa pursed her lips at the resulting cackle and felt her face heat. So lost in the feeling, she almost missed the glint of gold to her right. Her hand flew up, the automatic conditioned response taught to her in her youth activated. Sansa’s finger squeezed the trigger before her thoughts caught up with the speed of her body. 

Thunder cracked through the air and Sansa’s eyes darted to the rafters above her, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Had Petyr issued the order? He had to have! There was no other sound like the Ingstal. 

All at once, the lights came on and Sansa scanned the perimeter, faces slowly coming into focus. Her husband’s high-handed treachery tightened in her chest as she breathed, “How could you?”

“I didn’t,” Petyr’s voice slithered through the crowd. 

She looked for him, ready to unleash her anger. When he came into view, he gestured toward the gun in her hand, and she looked down. A small puff of smoke poured from the end, leading her to place her free hand on the barrel and curse the warmth she felt under her palm. She’d only heard one shot, and her gun had definitely been fired. 

Sansa shook her head. No way had that come from her own small pistol. No way had the reality of what she’d done filled her ears so entirely. It had to be the Ingstal. It had to be Petyr. It wasn’t Sansa.

It couldn’t have been. 

No. 

Please. 

Let it be someone else’s fault. 

The abrasive air she drew deeply through her nostrils alerted her to the sinking feeling that told her not to look past Petyr. A sick cough from the floor, and a low keening warned her that she’d better. Fighting every cowardly cell in her body, Sansa pried her eyelids apart and dragged her eyes down to scan the floor. Her heart stopped in her chest when she saw the golden mane splayed across the concrete. Cersei’s face was as white as a sheet, a glossy sheen of sweat wetting her hairline. 

Oh, fuck. 

Sansa released the gun in her hand and sprinted forward, barrelling past Petyr and the crowd that gathered, skidding to a halt at Cersei’s side. She dropped to the ground and grabbed her head in her hands. “I didn’t...it was...no!”

Cersei hissed through the pain. “You  _ did _ mean to. It  _ wasn’t _ an accident. And yes-- _ fuck _ ,” she coughed and winced. “This _ is _ happening.” She cracked an extremely forced smile. “Which, if I might add, it’s about time.” 

Tears blurred her vision as she heard only half of what Cersei worked so hard to say. “Get me her bag!” Whoever took it upon themselves, didn’t do so fast enough for her and she roared, “ _ NOW! _ ”

“Sansa,” Petyr cooed. 

The bag slid across the floor, coming to a stop a couple feet away. “No.”

“ _ Sansa. _ ”

She snatched up the bag and scooted under Cersei, laying her head in her lap. “I said no.”

“She’s still armed,” he reminded her gently. 

Cersei smiled, a quiet cough stealing her amusement as she raised her gun in the air and proceeded to squeeze the trigger, repeatedly. It was empty and Sansa reeled at the sucker punch of emotion that realization brought. “It wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Are fights ever fair?” Cersei gasped. 

Tears welled in Sansa’s eyes. “Why did you pretend?”

Cersei’s brow wrinkled in pain. “Didn’t want the families to think I handed it all to you.” She grit through her teeth, “You earned it.”

“ _ Fuck you _ ,” Sansa whispered. This wasn’t about business and she resented any implication that it was. 

There was movement in her periphery, feet surrounding and closing in. Sansa didn’t bother to look up as she warned, “Leave us.”

The feet paused, but did not retreat. 

“Looks like they want a show,” Cersei coughed through her grin.

Sansa let go of her friend long enough to reach beneath her skirt and fish for the gun she’d concealed. She fired two haphazard shots at the floor in front of her, inches from their toes. “LEAVE US!”

Most left, though of course some stayed. Sansa’s voice deepened as she promised, “If you don’t go now, everything you hold dear will be gone faster than you can say, ‘ _ Oh, please God, no! _ ’” Her jaw tightened through her insistence, “She is mine. Know that now before you decide whether or not to do my husband’s bidding.” 

The Royce brothers exchanged looks, Vegas appearing decidedly uncomfortable as he glanced at Petyr. Bronn had reappeared, his wary expression saying all the things he’d managed not to voice aloud. Petyr lowered his head and the loyalest of feet turned and walked away. He took a couple of steps forward, his voice a hushed whisper, “I’ll stay with you.” 

“Please don’t.”

If he took issue with her request, he didn’t say so. Sansa stared down at Cersei’s blood-stained abdomen. Where had she hit her? There was no discernable wound, the material of her dress sponging up her blood so proficiently, it was impossible to see the point of origin. Judging by the way the blood pooled on the ground, it had to be somewhere in her lower abdomen. What was down there? Sansa tried in vein to remember her high school anatomy class. Out of the corner of her eye, Petyr’s feet slowly, reluctantly, begrudgingly, turned and walked away. 

She startled a little when Cersei’s hand reached up and touched to the gun in her hands. “You carried backup.”

Sansa blanched a little, self-conscious over her obvious cheat. Her embarrassment subsided quickly when Cersei praised, “I’m so proud of you.”

She craned her neck over to look at the bodies of her fallen family. “She was perfect, wasn’t she? My Myrcella would have made this city her bitch. Wouldn’t have settled for any less.” 

“Shh, try not to talk,” Sansa plead as she rifled through her purse and pulled out the first baggy of pills she could find. Not bothering to investigate the contents, she shook two tablets into the palm of her hand. “Here,” she said and popped them in Cersei’s mouth.

Cersei gulped them back and panted through the pain for a second before she tried to speak again. Her voice had grown timid, her smile nervous as she admitted, “I’m afraid if I stop talking, I’ll die.” 

Sansa brushed the hair from her face, combing it out with her fingers, trying to ignore the way her friend’s body trembled in it’s slow death. She closed her eyes and sniffed back the tears that gathered. “Don’t you want to? You said… I can help you if it’s too painful.”

“You’re not going to shoot me again.”

It wasn’t a question, but instead a statement. Surprised by the demand, Sansa nodded weakly. “No, I won’t.” 

Cersei eyed the bag of drugs Sansa held and winced as she added, “And I’m not ODing either, so don’t even think about it. I refuse to asphyxiate on my own vomit. It’s undignified.”

Sansa chuckled at the absurdity of the conversation. “I can cut a major artery?” 

“Not my wrists.” Cersei weakly tried to hide her smile, her hand creeping up to clutch her stomach. “It’s melodramatic.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

“Will you slit my throat?” Cersei lifted her chin, exposing her neck. The strain of holding it up was too much and her head fell back into place almost immediately after.  

Sansa eyed the vein that still pulsed in her neck and pictured herself slicing through it. The tears rolled down her cheeks unabashed and she shook her head. “No.” Clearing her throat, and forcing herself together she made herself tease, “You hate scarfs. You’d haunt me if I buried you in a scarf.” 

Cersei laughed. Sweat drenched her temples and gathered at her collar bone. “Damn straight.” 

“It’ll just have to be the thigh, then.” Sansa rolled her eyes and pretended to sound put out by it. 

All the humor left her face, her expression serious as she insisted, “Not the lion, though. Promise me? It’s special.”

“Lion?” Sansa asked, confused. 

Cersei gripped the fabric of her dress on her waist, her fingers slowly pulling back fold after fold, revealing her bare thighs. Sansa’s eyes narrowed on a dark spot on the inside of one leg. It was a tattoo of a lion, one eye silvered with scar tissue. She’d seen Cersei in a bikini countless times over the years, and had seen the tattoo, but only then really looked at it. Woven into the proud mane were the names of each of her children. 

“Jaime wouldn’t let me put his name on me,” her teeth chattered behind cracked lips. “Said he had no right to my body, only the privilege I allowed.” 

It sounded like something Petyr would say--when he wasn’t in the throws of passion and giving into his more possessive side. 

“Don’t cut me there, okay?” 

Sansa dragged her eyes away from the lion, over the limp hand draped across the bloodstained designer dress, to the hollow face that peered back at her with desperate eyes. She barely heard herself agree, “Okay.” Clearing her throat, she added, “I’ll cut the other leg, as soon as you’re ready. Not a moment sooner, promise.”

Cersei managed a feeble nod. Silence passed between them for the span of four deep breaths before Cersei frowned. “I’m not ready yet.” 

“Okay.” 

“No, it’s not. I want this. I just…” Cersei looked away as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I just don’t know how to not fight.” 

Sansa swallowed back a caustic lump of bile, her nerves throwing her stomach in her throat. Cersei was a fighter, through and through. It made sense that she simply didn’t know how to give up--give in, _ rest. _ Reaching back for Cersei’s bag, Sansa felt around inside of it and put on a brave face. “So then, we’ll talk.”

“I was afraid of that.” Cersei half smiled. 

Ignoring her chafing, Sansa pulled a brush from her bag and gently raked it through the golden locks that framed her face. “Hush, we haven’t talked in weeks. We have a lot to catch up on.” 

Cersei coughed again, a spec of blood darkened the edge of her bottom lip. Sansa’s heart beat louder between her ears as she set the brush down, her own hand shaking as it reached back in the bag. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mask in place and forced small talk. “Did you see Syrio opened a new dance club?”

A clammy hand grabbed her arm, the other gripped the locket around Cersei’s neck. Sansa stared down at her, startled by the sudden force behind the gesture. She used all the strength she had left to yank the necklace hard, breaking the clasp behind her neck. Her arm fully extended, holding it up to Sansa as she panted, “This belongs to you.” 

“No,” Sansa argued, pushing her hand away. She recognized the locket and knew it was special to Cersei. “Jaime gave you that.” 

Cersei shivered as she shook her head. “Only the locket, not what’s inside. You did. Years ago. It’s yours.”

That got Sansa’s attention. What could Cersei possibly have of hers that fit in a locket? From years ago, no less? Sansa didn’t remember giving her anything so small in the past seven years. Letting go of Cersei just long enough to work the pendant, Sansa’s brow furrowed at the small lock of copper hair within.

“I tried to warn Catelyn that night.”

Sansa tore her gaze from the snippet of her own baby-fine hair. Cersei’s eyes widened as she forced the words out. “We were never friends. Hadn’t spoken since Robert. But when word came south that there’d be a move against the great Starks of the north, I broke the treaty and sent Catelyn warning.” Cersei’s eyes shut through a sharp hiss. “I hadn’t seen you in years, but you were still so young.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sansa soothed, even though it all felt very far from okay. 

“Her and Olenna--they wouldn’t listen.” Her jaw clenched both in pain and a resentment she’d felt for years. “I was just a dumb cracked out model who killed their precious Robert and ran off with a cocky young buck who held the keys to his daddy’s kingdom. ” She exhaled through her pain. “Why would they listen to me?”

Sansa cradled her head, trying to make sense of Cersei’s confession. “I just about wore a hole in the rug pacing back and forth the night of the attack, waiting to hear if you survived.” 

“Why didn’t you save me then?” Sansa asked and then immediately hated herself for it. 

Cersei sniffed. “Lysa wouldn’t allow it. Said Catelyn would have wanted you kids out of the life.” She blinked a couple of times and sniffed again. “When I heard you were back in, it was my second chance to be there for you like you were for me, so many years ago, when no one else was.” 

Sansa took a deep breath. Cersei simply wasn’t making any sense. Sansa would have been too young to have been there for her in any meaningful way. But then, how did Cersei get a lock of her hair? She searched her memories, as fast and as far back as she could, unable to find any time she had ever given her such a token. 

“I miss him, Little Dove.” Cersei’s raspy voice pulled her from her curiosity. “Already.”

She didn’t have to ask who she was referring to. “You were a great couple.”

Cersei’s eyes locked on hers as she asked, “Help me find him again?” 

Entranced by the last spark of life in her only friend, Sansa reached for the blade she’d kept tucked close to her chest and brought it down to the promised thigh. She watched Cersei’s eyes widen as she pressed it deep into her flesh and dragged it back, fighting through the natural resistance of muscle. 

Her pupils blew open, dilated in the ecstacy of release before her limp body felt completely slack in Sansa’s arms. 

Sansa shifted a little, hoping to feel some movement on Cersei’s part. When there was none, and the crushing reality of her death started to set in, a sudden sense of loneliness hung heavy in the air. Goosebumps formed on her arms and a small scream crept up her throat. She clenched her jaw and fought the gut reaction back down where it belonged. 

No. 

Cersei deserved better than hysterics. She was a modern day queen, and expected more from her than such weakness. 

Sansa had to do something to keep herself from blubbering over her body. The obvious answer was to get up and leave, run if she had to, let the tears flow in private. But she just couldn't seem to stand, or let go of what remained of her.

Cersei had always been a force of nature, breathing vibrant color and life into everything she did. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was because she’d been held back and beaten down for so long before she met Jaime that once she spread her wings, she refused to ever let her feet touch the ground again. 

She looked so unlike herself laying there, everything that made her her, completely faded away leaving only the cloudy white frailty of death and decay. It felt wrong, seeing her like that. Cersei would never allow herself to look so  _ ruined _ . Sansa reached for her, only then realizing the blade still in her hand. She dropped it as quickly as if the handle were white-hot, the guilt it brought her somehow burning into her palm. 

She closed her eyes to the pin-prickling pain of tears denied the chance to flow. Cersei would tell her to keep her chin up, steel herself against whatever hurt and rise above it. 

_ Our beauty is our strength _ , she told her once. 

“I will make you beautiful again,” Sansa sniffed back errant emotion and moved to tug the hem of her dress down. The warm wash of blood that pooled under them, came to rest against Sansa’s own bare legs and flaunted Cersei’s lost vitality.

Sansa’s jaw tightened as she trained her gaze away from it, willing herself to ignore the feel of it on her skin. Reaching back into Cersei’s bag, Sansa pulled out a tube of foundation and cleared her throat as she squirted it on her fingertips.

She bit her lip against the shiver that touching Cersei’s sunken cheeks caused, and gently worked the color into them. 

Trembling uncontrollably while she tried to apply the eyeliner, she wrung her hand out, squeezing her knuckles in frustration at her own body’s shock response. Teeth chattered, refusing to let her pretend everything was completely manageable and not a bit as surreal as it was. 

_ “Sansa, _ ” Petyr cooed. 

“No.”

She blended eyeshadow as he stepped forward, her body bristling at his nearness. “Sansa, she’s gone.” 

“I know that,” Sansa spoke down into the eyelashes that were miraculously growing with each application of the lengthening mascara.

He crouched beside her and reached out. She leaned away from him as she looked for lipstick. “I can’t, Petyr.”

Part of her expected him to argue, put up more of a fight. He didn’t. Somehow, he knew she lacked the capacity to be loved in that moment. His arm dropped, though he kept his position beside her. “They have people who do this, Sansa.”

She didn’t look up as she dabbed the color on the fallen queen’s bottom lip. “Cersei Lannister will look as glorious in her death as she did in her life. Or so help me.”

Reaching for a tissue in her bag, Sansa wiped at a smudge, needing perfection for her friend. 

“May I touch you?”

The question felt alien, coming from nowhere and Sansa didn’t know how to answer it. What did he want from her?

When she didn’t respond, his palm came to rest between her shoulder blades. It wasn’t a greedy embrace meant to comfort the giver more than the receiver, but instead a gentle gesture of solidarity. It was a reminder that he was there in case she needed him. 

It was with that unimposing act of kindness that she realized how very much she did. Losing all reserve, she erupted into sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she hyperventilated into his shoulder. Cersei had loved her, in her own crazy way. And though Sansa had her family to lessen the pain, she still suffered the tear in her heart where the place she carried her love for Cersei was ripped open and bled out. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pray I did this justice -- if so, pour yourself a drink and wipe your tears. If you want to wallow in some Cersei-inspired sad here's the playlist I listened to while I wrote this: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJ5nFFjsOszcLFBYNM6g9kmGsru48FSwD


	25. Lacrimosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In truth, half the city should have been thankful for being freed from such a regime. They didn’t see it that way, of course.

She was nothing short of stunning up there behind the podium, and Petyr hesitated to stand beside her, afraid to detract from the ethereal glow the sunshine gave her, red hair blazing around her shoulders as she spoke to the crowd. All the great families were in attendance, even the Reeds who had begged their way out of the fray, the Freys who had become offended at the most opportune time, and the Greyjoys who had managed to keep their noses clean of battle, but never seemed to miss a funeral.

Tension was thick in the air between both loyal sides: Baelish family followers were still high on victory boasting their superiority, and in addition to losing everything, the Lannister crew despised the fact that it was the Baelishes themselves that were conducting their fallen leader’s funeral. Petyr supposed that made sense, but Sansa wouldn’t allow anyone else to lay her friend to rest. After seeing how torn up she’d been over the last week since Cersei’s death, Petyr was willing to give his wife anything that brought her even the slightest of pleasures.

Varys agreed it was an opportunity for them to show anyone still packing Lannister-stamped pieces; grips gilded gold with signature lion emblems, that they were not tyrants. Petyr spoke first, hoping anyone with the balls to shoot a Baelish would take their first opportunity with him, rather than risk them taking Sansa out. “You will notice that the media has been kept back to the roadside. We have Commissioner Baratheon to thank for arranging our moments of privacy.”

The crowd turned to Stannis, who cleared his throat and nodded acknowledgement. A few nodded back, others glared daggers at him, which only made the man blanche. Perhaps the animosity displayed was the last vestiges of Lannister loyalty--Jaime would have approved of the hate shown for anyone Baratheon. Stannis’ family stood beside him--his wife, anyway. Word was, his daughter was back in the hospital again. An ill child had been the perfect leash to lead the man on, but feeling his own fatherly heartstrings tug over the news, Petyr decided to tip him extra for it today.

“They will, of course, be allowed in at the end to photograph the event,” Petyr continued, glancing at the large poster-sized portraits of Jaime, Cersei, and Myrcella. They were finished to look like true paintings and framed in gold filigree. “However, my wife and I would like to allow some time for everyone to speak freely.” He made a show of wrapping his arm around her and kissing her temple before adding, “We understand this is hard on everyone, and we want to respect the difficult decision before you.”

He was of course, referring to the decision of whether or not to stay and fall in line, or rebel and die. Petyr didn’t say it aloud because he didn’t need to. That’s how these things worked. It had been a week since the warehouse shootout, and that was typically standard--not that the Lannisters were anywhere near standard. There was so much more at stake here. This wasn’t just a new leader in a territory; this was the merging of two territories--two territories that happened to make up the whole city. The Baelishes had inherited a monopoly and while their loyal supporters smiled and rejoiced over it, he knew the rest of the city was terrified by such power.

This would be delicate. They had to present themselves as fair, level-headed, and reasonable. Which was way more than the Lannisters ever gave their people. Jaime and Cersei were fickle, reckless, and inconsistent. They were fun, and definitely worthy opponents, he wasn’t denying that. He just didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to serve under them and was glad he didn’t ever have to know.

In truth, half the city should have been thankful for being freed from such a regime. They didn’t see it that way, of course. Running their fingers to trace the tattoos they’d loyally inked themselves with, picking at and adjusting the gifted ice they wore on each finger and in chains around their necks, they kissed the gold embossing on their guns out of respect for the fallen. Tokens and tradition were a powerful combination Jaime and Cersei understood well and used to their advantage.

Sansa mused over the idea of giving people a Baelish symbol to brandish. Petyr had told her that not only did it detract from anonymity (something they required at times) but that with them owning the whole city, it was no longer necessary to identify anyone as working for any particular family. She would have to get used to that. Owning the city.

So much resulted from Dany’s attempt at revenge. Sansa’s eyes roved over the crowd, taking stock of the families that remained, and the ones that didn’t. In the far back were the Greyjoys, flanked by both Brune and Oberyn. They would wait until the end of the ceremony to exert the force that Sansa ordered.

Petyr didn’t feel it was worth the effort required to rap their knuckles in admonishment, though Sansa felt differently. The Greyjoys were meant to support the Lannisters, and where were they in their hour of need? No. They wouldn’t get off that easily.

She glanced over to Jon standing at her other side. He clasped his hands in front of himself and kept his head down. He was acting the perfect support in her grieving, but she knew he was stifling his displeasure with her. When news of what transpired in that warehouse reached her poor bedridden cousin, he resented not being there for her--for Elenei. It would be a bit before he forgave her for insisting that he stay home and rest rather than attend the dance recital.

Ultimately, Sansa was glad for how things had worked out. Jon hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen what she had. On any other night, he could have held his own, but his weakened state could have costed him his life had he been involved. There were a lot of things in life that Sansa hadn’t been able to forgive herself for, but losing Jon was a regret she couldn’t bear to add to the list. Hadn’t everyone already lost enough?

She didn’t remember all of what she said to the crowd, feeling torn between her private thoughts and memories of a woman who meant more to her than was ever reasonable, and public respect paid to an empire that her family rose above. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice as she said, “It may not be common knowledge, but there was a reason why the Lannisters always hosted Fashion Week. It was due to Cersei’s sentimentality and appreciation for the models that depended on it.”

Sansa gave a sad grin. “If Jaime were alive right now, he’d be cross with me for even mentioning the name: _Baratheon_. But that’s truly how fashion week started.” Eyes turned to Stannis, the man ducking his head down in the spotlight of hundreds of gangsters’ eyes. “Cersei came from nothing, and had nothing but her beauty.” Sansa tucked some hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “I air no dirty secrets here today, only validate a history we all knew to be true, but chose to forget at Jaime’s insistence.”

Petyr raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if her parting words at the podium would really include such sordid revelations. If she noticed his surprise, she made no indication of it. “Robert snatched her right off the runway and leeched the life from her, one bruise at a time. But like a prayer answered, Jaime appeared. And he showed her that she was worth more than the scraps that Robert tossed her.”

A couple of men stepped closer to Stannis, his wife’s eyes bulging in horror at the sudden attention. Sansa raised a hand casually, waving them away. They parted from him as quickly as they’d approached, leaving both Stannis and his wife to glance around themselves in paranoia. They were no doubt gauging just how close they’d come to a lynching.

Sansa continued, “Jaime promised her that she could forget that life. And given the opportunity, many of us would have taken him up on that offer. But not Cersei.”

She touched her fingers to the locket Cersei gifted her with her last breaths, knowing the gentle gesture would make it flicker in the bright sunlight and catch the eye. Sansa kept the lock of hair she knew to be hers (but couldn’t for the life of her remember giving) inside it, not knowing how it got there or why. Sadly, there was no one left to ask either. The baby fine hair would remain a mystery for Sansa to ponder for the rest of her life. “She may have learned to enjoy the finer things in life, but Cersei never forgot what it was like to be down and out--to have absolutely nothing to your name, but your name. And in her case, even that borrowed.”

Again her voice caught and she clenched her fist at the podium to control it. Petyr reached for her, silently promising he knew her heart and the feelings that saturated it. “Cersei insisted on hosting Fashion week as a way of paying tribute to her roots and to making sure that the beautiful men and women that worked it never had to go through what she had. It was her mission to ensure they were well cared for every second they spent in this city, because she knew more than anyone what this world does to beautiful people.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She willed her voice not to falter as she admitted, “She was quite honestly the only true friend I’ve ever had, and easily the fiercest opponent I’ve ever faced.”

Sansa looked away quickly, silently cursing the tears pooling in her eyes. One got away, falling fast over her cheek to land on her chest. “I will miss her-” her words broke again and it took longer than she would have condoned before she could utter, “ _Always_.”

Petyr’s grip on her hip tightened and she rest the back of her hand against his chest, drawing strength from him before she continued in a determined voice, “Petyr and I have decided to continue her’s and Jaime’s work. To host Fashion Week from here on out-”

There was a disgruntled shift in the crowd. Sansa raised her voice into the microphone as she finished, “In the Lannisters’ name.”

The crowd calmed and a quiet murmur throughout indicated that the news was pleasing some and equally upsetting others. Varys had cautioned her not to do this, warned that it may have been received as high-handed, an intrusion on the memory of their beloved queen. While it may have been prudent to listen to him, Sansa couldn’t even if she wanted to. Fashion Week was important to Cersei, and therefore it was important to Sansa. She would not allow it to fall by the wayside, or degrade.

When the floor opened for others to speak, Petyr helped to guide Sansa way from the podium. He had encouraged her to make an exit, knowing how taxing this whole event was to her overall, but she wouldn’t hear of it. His wife insisted on staying, bearing witness to everyone’s parting words. She did not take lightly what their prevailing meant to the city, and he couldn’t have loved her more for it, even though it meant her prolonged sadness.

He fingered the small box in his pocket and tipped his head towards Oberyn who grinned proudly at him from his place next to the Greyjoys. While he’d made his disappointment over not killing Jaime and Cersei directly known, he appreciated the chance to dispatch Kevan Lannister. In truth, Kevan was a more worthy opponent than either Jaime or Cersei, at least in regards to direct combat, and allowing Oberyn to take him was also a kindness to Kevan. The man would never find his place in the Baelish pecking order, yet he wasn’t one to lead a rebellion either, without someone else pulling his strings. To put it plainly, he’d be miserable and fall into uselessness rather quickly were he to live in this new world. Death was mercy, and his family would be cared for, taken in by other loyal Lannisters and marked as untouchable by Sansa.

Petyr sat beside her in a show of support as she listened to each expressed grief, and felt relieved when the final statement was made and the obligatory moment of silence had passed. He glanced around quickly, mildly surprised that the priest still stood, alive and breathing. It wasn’t that he had said anything particularly offensive, but priests had a pretty high mortality rate in this city. People rose from their seats and Petyr peered over various wide-brim hats and freshly barbered heads to watch Varys slip Stannis a folder.

Good man.

“Did you have to?” Sansa sighed into his ear.

He would have asked her what she was referring to, but he’d learned to give his wife more credit than that. She too had noticed the manilla folder handed specifically to Stannis, a man all too happy to accept it and flee the scene. “Yes.”

“He was helpful to us and you’ve considered him friendly for years,” she countered under her breath as he lead her from the grass to the paved pathway. He disliked her defending Oberyn so readily.

“And it is out of respect for that friendship that I am giving him a fighting chance,” Petyr reasoned out of the side of his mouth. “The Mountain is due to be released in a few days. I did promise Oberyn the opportunity to face off with his sister’s murderer.” He gave the back of her hand a peck of a kiss and met her eyes. “I never said I wouldn’t give the Mountain a heads up and a job opportunity.”

"They say he murdered children, Petyr. I don't think I appreciate having a man like that in our employ." She wondered if he'd argue that one job was hardly steady employment, and because of that her conscience could stay clear.

He made no such argument, only sighed, "They do say that, don't they?"

Sansa carefully stepped one foot in front of the other, listening to her heels click on the asphalt. Her disappointment was difficult to hide, but for the sake of the surrounding crowd, she managed. She glanced to either side of her and changed her focus. “The Mountain is not _a fighting chance_.”

The procession line moved towards the exit, but Petyr knew she had no intention of leaving yet. She’d already told him that she planned to stay after everyone had dispersed, that she wanted to visit the mausoleum. He veered them off the path, away from the others. “Don’t sell Oberyn short. It’s anyone’s guess who will win.”

No it wasn’t. Not really. Gregor Clegane could crush Oberyn’s head with his bare hands, and with the kevlar Stannis left for him in his personal possessions box at Karhold Correctional, it didn’t matter how quick of a draw Oberyn was. Not that he intended to tell Sansa any of that.

She shook her head, ducking away from the people they passed. “The sheer fact that you pit them against each other, means the odds of Oberyn winning are slim.” Petyr bit the inside of his cheek to hide his pride at her estimation.

Somehow just knowing it was there, Sansa gave him a sideways glance. “Even if he does defeat The Mountain, I get the feeling he will not survive.”

She knew him so well. Petyr leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, hiding his smile in her hair. Funerals were no occasion to feel such mirth. Schooling his features, he allowed a slight edge to sharpen his tone. “I won’t have someone you dated walking around.”

“We weren’t dating, and it was you who asked him to proposition me,” she replied with a trace of amusement in her voice.  

It had been a long week without her smile in their house and Petyr didn’t want to lose it. He continued quickly, hoping to keep her content, “He _touched_ you.” He was sure to emphasize the word dramatically as he opened the door and placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her inside.

The tomb his wife had paid double to have erected in under a week, was much bigger on the inside than what appeared on the outside. Despite Varys’ protesting, and Petyr’s careful advisement, Sansa had both Tommen and Joffrey’s bodies exhumed so that they could be laid to rest with their family. It was floor to ceiling marble, the few windows in it stained glass, gold accents sprinkled throughout. Mozart’s Lacrimosa piped through the speakers she’d had installed.

Wait, speakers?

Petyr’s brow wrinkled as he realized that she had actually had a sound system installed. He glanced to the panel of light switches by the door, seeing for the first time she’d apparently opted for dimmer switches as well. The mausoleum was gaudy and overkill--exceedingly Catholic, but then again so were the Lannisters, which was probably why they were so liberal. Sansa had stayed true to their memory, that was certain--sparing no expense.

At the entrance there was a small table with a statue of the Mother Mary on it and a cluster of votives delineated by various saints and martyrs pictured on them. A double-wide tomb was placed further in, with a great lion’s head carved in the center of it, a bench to either side with golden lion’s head arm rests. Petyr knew that was where Jaime and Cersei would be placed; Sansa insisted they be buried together. Their children would be placed in the walls that surrounded, as would Kevan and Tyrion, leaving empty slots for future Lannister family members when their time came.

So much energy and effort had been put into a place meant for weeping and bemoaning the corpses entombed there, that Petyr couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Sansa planned on visiting longer and more frequently than the typical mourner. He pictured his wife sitting by the lion tomb with a bottle of wine resting on top of it, visiting Cersei weekly and sharing a drink with the dead. He wouldn’t put it past her. She seemed to have an affinity for the dead, a deep appreciation for what could not be returned, developed over years of missing the murdered. Sansa took comfort where others tended to fear, having even gone so far as to drag herself to her mother’s grave to weather the labor of their daughter’s birth.

Sansa leaned forward and lit a candle in respect. It was the one for St. Olga, the woman rumored to have buried men alive, burned others, and ultimately slaughtered those who killed her husband before she reached her sainthood. How fitting that Sansa would choose that particular saint for Cersei. Interrupting him from his thoughts, Sansa clarified, “We were only dancing.”

The image of Oberyn standing behind her, holding her, smelling her, enjoying her, entered his brain. Frustrated, he hissed, “You were grinding on his dick.”

“With our clothes on.”

As if that made it any better. Petyr’s eyes narrowed on her. “You sucked his finger.”

Had they not already been over this? Sansa rolled her eyes. “Only to piss you off.”

Fuming, he reminded her, “You are the only one who-”

Her lips interrupted his words, palms gripping his face to anchor him to her. When he began to return her kiss, she moved her hold to the back of his head, fisting hair to turn his passion from anger to lust. The way she attacked him, he was taken by surprise and unable to deny her, his own hands reaching for her ass, squeezing lifting, and using it to pull her flush to him. Sansa tilted her head to accept more of him, one arm dropping to his shoulders to pull him even closer as she shimmied against the growing bulge in his pants.

“Did you bring it?” She panted.

He tore his lips from her just long enough to admit, “ _Yes_.”

Sansa grinned and then broke from him, smiling at his bewildered gaze as she pulled her panties down to her knees, letting them drop to the ground before she stepped out of them. Petyr licked his lips watching her pull her tight black skirt up over her hips and turn around to bare her beautiful ass to him. She eyed him over her shoulder while she slowly bent over the table and commanded, “Do it.”

The bright pink opening that contrasted so divinely from the ivory skin that framed it, sat above the bittersweet slit he considered a delicacy, and taunted him with a reflexive clench. Petyr had prided himself for a sophistication he was able to cultivate in himself despite his less than fortunate upbringing. He operated through moderation, reserve, discipline. From the moment he met the woman before him, she shattered his efforts to become Littlefinger, and embraced him on every level of his being.

Quite simply, she undid him until he was nothing but a raw pulsating nerve of need for her and only her. There were days he questioned if she were part angel--or demon. Though, most of the time, he didn’t care, so long as he could bury himself inside her and forget everything else in the world. Only her constant comforting touch could tame the animal she made him with the quickest of glances and the softest hints of expression.

They’d barely just begun and he was already rearing to rip through his pants and charge head-first into the lush pussy in front of him.

But there was more to it than just the primal claiming he enjoyed and she encouraged, this time. This was entirely about her, what she needed from him. He was used to this view of Sansa, having taken her from behind countless times and had almost gotten used to ignoring the naughty pucker of her ass above entirely, knowing it wasn’t an area that brought her much pleasure. Reaching in his pocket, he retracted the little box given to his wife years before and eyed that little rosebud again. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh,” she promised, smiling as she bit her lip for emphasis. “Hurry.”

Hurry? Petyr didn’t appreciate being rushed when it came to enjoying his wife’s body. “Why?”

She wiggled her ass for him as she explained through pouty lips, “We have a meeting after this.”

Ah yes. He was aware of that, and deemed it a lesser priority. A girl by the name of Lyanna Mormont materialized after the warehouse bloodbath, claiming to be kin to Jorah Mormont himself. Varys confirmed her identity as well as her estrangement with her cousin. Jorah had run the family name into the mud and Lyanna had decided to try to rebuild it upon her cousin’s demise. Varys promised she wasn’t as innocent as her age might suggest, running with someone of consequence in the Wildling biker gang, the very same one Arya had punished almost a year prior.

Petyr and his men arrived to exact retribution against the accused members, only to find Arya standing down by the waterfront by a large pyre of motorcycles. Four to be exact. She flicked her zippo open and lit a cigarette as she watched the flames in front of her. “How is he?”

She was referring to Durran, of course, the child born prematurely. “He’s alive,” Petyr answered noncommittally because he dared not get his hopes up for any more than that.

“And her?”

As he approached her, he saw the blood that had dried in long streams down her arms and splatters over the chains worn the length of her chest, crusting to her shirt. “She won’t leave his side.”

Arya nodded as if she expected nothing less and then took a long drag off her cigarette. She spoke through the smoke, refusing to look away from her kills. “I couldn’t let them live. Not after…” Her voice trailed off and Petyr knew how she felt. Sansa was tearing her hair out in the NICU with their child, refusing to eat or sleep. Arya cleared her throat and tightened her lips. “My sister. My bar. My responsibility.” She threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it with her boot. “You should get back to the hospital.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but instead more of an order. Petyr wouldn’t have taken kindly to that had it been anyone else issuing it, but Arya got a pass. His sister-in-law had earned his respect over the years in so many different ways, hunting down the bikers responsible for Sansa’s tumble, murdering and disposing of them was only the most recent.

He’d naturally had an aversion to the Wildlings ever since, but knew only a few were to blame and they’d been weeded out and cut down. Knowledge that Lyanna Mormont was even remotely linked to them had him wary.

“It’s a good thing I had it rescheduled.”

“You what?” Sansa hissed back at him.

Seeming unaffected by her frustration, Petyr shrugged. “Another appointment took precedence.”

She stood up then. “Another appointment?”

He knew she wouldn’t like it. “Davos.”

“Davos? What? Why?” She grimaced.

He kissed her forehead. “Because you are grieving.” She didn’t try to deny it, so he continued, “And because I want to learn how best to take care of you while you’re hurting.”

Sansa blinked back at him, silent as she considered the thought behind his actions. Her voice caught and she felt her eyes water as she promised, “I’ll be alright.”

He hadn’t doubted her for a minute. “I know you will.”

She nodded back at him and collected herself, using humor to minimize her feelings. “Okay. We’ll meet with Davos. But the minute he says we’re codependent, I’ll-”

“ _I’ll_ remind him we like it that way,” Petyr assured her.

Her cheeks dimpled, and a genuine smile touched her eyes. “Okay, then. Hurry up and fuck me, Petyr. We’ve got a counseling session to get to.” Before he could say anything, she spun around and bent back over the marble.

Petyr blinked down at her and stalled a moment. While she provided quite the lavascious view, taking her there like that felt slightly awkward. There was no work up to this, no preparation. He’d always enjoyed foreplay, but never really needed it before, so this shouldn’t have been an issue to him.

He glanced down at the words that read, “Booty-Bling” and his jaw clenched in annoyance he couldn’t entirely place. So surprised that she still had it in the first place, let alone would actually ask him to use it on her after all this time, he hadn’t even thought to bring the lube. As they stood through the ceremony, he was certain her grief would change her mind on the matter entirely and it wouldn’t be an issue.

How wrong he was. He peered over her shoulder at the large lion head carved into the marble, gold poured into the divots to fill the design and force the imagery to pop off the stark white, the faintest of grey shadows ghosting the unrelenting stone just enough to prove its purity. She may have wanted him to jam a butt plug up her ass as some strange tribute to Cersei, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable doing so. “Get up.”

“What?” She rose, still not facing him.

Petyr reached for her hip to turn her. She only provided the resistance of confusion as she faced him head on and let him guide her back to brace herself against the table. He sat on the bench behind him and leaned forward, eyeing where her legs met. Sunkissed hair sprinkled around the seam he’d been spying from another angle moments before. He let his head rest against her, inhaling her scent as he nuzzled. “This is important to you,” he spoke into her, letting each word vibrate. “I don’t understand why, only that it is.”

“Petyr.” Her voice was huskier than before, her hand coming down to pet his head.

Now that was the sort of touching he thrived on. Her pets and caresses, her acceptance.

Petyr slid his tongue out to tickle over her seam, licking more fine hair than flesh. It was to tease and silence her. “But what’s important to me, Sansa-” He turned his head, pressing his face into her as he did. “Is that when I fuck my wife, she’s thinking of me and only me.”

“I am,” she gasped, surprised by his turning again to cover her entirely with his mouth. She hadn’t been, of course. So focused on fucking during a funeral, as Jaime and Cersei would have, and making use of the gift her friend had chosen for her, she was ashamed to admit that she’d almost forgotten about Petyr entirely.

He wouldn’t let her, though. His tongue laving and burrowing further down to the slippery flesh that delighted, his eyes watching from below. He waited until she was a little weak in the knees before he came up for air and pointed out so poignantly, “You are now.”

Caught and guilty, Sansa let the weight of her head overwhelm and loll back to stare up at the cathedral ceiling above, conveniently avoiding any persecution. Petyr continued to move avidly in time with a rhythm he somehow innately knew. Goddamn, the man knew his way around her clit. After a moment, his fingers dug into her thigh, willing her to leave her shame behind and rejoin him in their intimacy. She bit her lip and fought the weight of gravity and self-indulgence to look down into the grey-green eyes that swallowed her.

Dimples pressed upon his cheeks and melted her heart as she began forget why she’d initiated their sex in the first place. The hand that squeezed her slid higher, fingers brushed against her opening, playing with the slick heat that seeped. She couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped her lips when he drove his digits inside. His tongue flicking furiously, retracted only to repeatedly fuck as far his knuckles would allow.

The world seemed to evaporate around her as Petyr guided her thigh to rest over his shoulder, the slight change in angle letting her feel him differently--perfectly. When he pulled his fingers free of her, she was simultaneously disappointed and surprised. Rather than abandoning her entirely, he directed his attention elsewhere, sliding his fingertips further back, exploring and coating.

Sansa’s stomach tightened over the press against the forbidden passage, massaging and insisting until the tip of his finger eased itself past the once reluctant muscle. The shock of feeling anything (however small) coming to rest in that particular location, made her flex all her muscles in retaliation.

“Breathe,” he purred into her as his finger rode a little deeper.

His voice warm and tender, soothed the anxiety that was rapidly filling her insides. Sansa closed her eyes and exhaled, letting go of all the anticipation that had been twisting her up. His tongue comforted her, tracing back between her legs until it touched the finger he’d buried, allowing her to accommodate it further.

The pressure had started foreign, though with Petyr’s assistance had felt more and more natural to her. Sansa ran her thumb over his eyebrow, loving him deeply for how he and he alone could help her relax and experience this with him.

A tinge of sadness stung her when he pulled his lips from her. Frowning as she looked down, she watched him take the metal plug in his mouth, heating it--wetting it. She shivered at his predatory gaze and the hunger in his voice when he removed it from his mouth and whispered, “I want you to come.”

Before she had a chance to respond or react, Petyr lunged forward and devoured her sensitive core, his mouth sealing around her nub, the suction unbearable--almost. She squirmed inconsolably over the way he licked and sucked, and didn’t at first notice the smooth metal, warmed and lubricated, when it ran back and forth over her opening. To her surprise, he plunged it in an out to use her own natural juices as well. When he retracted his finger from her, she was having difficulty catching her breath, urgency building within at the attention of his tongue. She was only mildly aware that it wasn’t his finger that was pressing up on her now. He circled her, getting the area used to the pressure and massage of the unrelenting plug as she began to thrust herself further into his mouth.

Petyr clamped down on her thigh to keep her from moving, waiting until she was twitching in his mouth before he coaxed the plug in. She yelped more out of surprise than pain as her body wracked with confusion, both at the ecstasy of orgasm and a pressure she hadn’t felt before. Petyr sat back on the bench and watched her body finish beautifully in front of him.

Unable to resist, he unbuckled his pants and gave himself a good stroke or two before he growled, “Turn around.”

Sansa was still trying to catch her breath as she did, coming to rest on the table again. He was met with the same gorgeous view of black lace stockings stopped high up on her thighs and the well-attended cunt glistening for him. Only this time, instead of a dainty little rosebud teasing him between two rounded globes meant for gripping and spanking, he was met with the gleam of the ‘booty-bling’ he’d inserted.

“How does it look?” She panted back at him, feeling uncharacteristically insecure over it.

“Tacky,” he answered honestly.

Her jaw dropped and if she were in a different position, she would have swatted at him for such an admission.

Sensitive to her ego, his warm palms rubbed her ass, letting his touch calm the indignation. Moving to her lower back, his thumbs massaged her hips as he cozied up to her, his erection settling against her opening. “But you make it look good,” he assured her.

And she did.

How could she not?

She was his and she was sharing this with him.

Sansa appreciated that he tried to save the moment. Her laughter, however, died on a gasp, as he entered her. His hands started on her hips, drawing her back against him as she slid the length of him, and then slowly moved up her sides until he’d pulled her to standing. Sansa leaned back against him, feeling his fingers grip her ribs momentarily before holding her breasts. Annoyed by the cloth barrier, wanting to feel his skin against hers, she unbuttoned her blazer and leaned forward just long enough to strip herself of the garment.

Seeming to read her mind, Petyr reached for the zipper on the back of her dress, working it before he could grab up handfuls of material to pull down. She flailed her arms quickly to push the dress to a pool around her waist. His hands were on her breasts again, running over the satin of the bra, and rather than try to take it off her, or dig into the cups, he reached for the small snaps of the nursing bra to expose her tits. As soon as the open air hit them, she could feel the moisture on her nipples.

Petyr played with them only for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her, to draw her back against him completely. He slowed his thrusts until they were little more than a lazy hump and kissed her neck, speaking softly into her ear, “I’m here for you.”

“I know,” she breathed over her shoulder. And she truly did. He would always be there for her, pulling her away from herself and back to them. He kissed her again, squeezing her tight as his hips rocked, filling her deeper and deeper. Sansa was meant to be his, and he was meant to be hers. They would always take care of each other, giving everything. All that they’d been through had only proven that more and more.

The hand that held her breasts, gently twisted and plucked at her nipple. Sansa leaned her head back and kissed his cheek, grinning as she said, “If you leave it alone now, there will be some later tonight after the kids go to bed...if you want any.”

His eyes opened, the fire within thoroughly stoked at such a promise. Petyr palmed the breast instead, suddenly so careful not to over-attend her nipple and admitted into her neck, “Mm, I think I do.”

His final thrusts grew less deliberate, turning more to spasms as he filled her with every ounce of his affection. Sansa sighed contentedly at the feel of him pulsing within, some of him escaping and dripping from where they met. Petyr pressed a kiss to her shoulder as his hands dropped down to her hips prying her from him, retreating.

“No!” Her hand reached behind her to stop him and hold him to her.

Petyr offered no resistance, allowing her to stall him.

“Don’t leave me,” she plead. “Not yet.”

Moved by her need for him, Petyr promised in her ear, “Never.” He hugged her close long after he’d slid from her, embracing the moment of silence when it was just he and she alone together in a world that would forever belong only to them: King and Queen of the city.

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> THE END!!!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and following this series for so long. Also major thanks to the amazing ladies who have been very kind in reading over various drafts before deeming them post-ready. I am so grateful for your help: Light_Loves_The_Dark, Lady_Sansa_Baelish, janedethr, and GreedisGreen.


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